Masks
by Negaduck
Summary: Everyone has their secrets.  What happens when those secrets become too heavy a burden?
1. In the Arches

**Masks, Part 1:  
In the Arches**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

Kermit the Frog bounced onstage, in front of the Muppet Show logo, and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it's the Muppet show, with our very special guest star!" He waved his arms and cheered, then hopped to the top of the logo, which rose and disappeared into the flyspace. The familiar theme song played as the curtains opened, revealing a set of arches. Thog, Timmy, Sweetums, Fletcher Bird, and Bobo strutted onstage and through the lowest row of arches, then struck a pose. A set of female Muppets came in from the right wings into the next row of arches, singing,

"It's time to play the music,  
It's time to light the lights!  
It's time to meet the Muppets  
On the Muppet Show tonight."

From the left wings, a set of male Muppets came onstage, singing,

"It's time to put on makeup,  
It's time to dress up right.  
It's time to get things started-"

Kermit, sitting in the middle of one row of arches, sang,

"It's time to get things started-"

Then everyone sang,

"It's time to get things started  
On the most sensational, inspirational,  
Celebrational, Muppetational,  
This is what we call The Muppet show!"

The logo lowered again, with Gonzo holding a trumpet in the center of the O. He drew in a breath and blew, and the sound of a gong rang out. He reeled backward as if stunned by the noise.

Kermit looked over to his left. "How'd that look?"

Scooter, who was sitting at a bank of monitors just offstage, said, "Looked great, Chief."

Scooter was surrounded by a gaggle of other Muppets, who were peering curiously at the new technology. Each monitor was hooked to a camera inconspicuously attached to the underside of the balcony, the box seats, and various other locations so they could film the stage from all angles. A tech could control the cameras from here, but it looked to Scooter as if, in most cases, they could just set 'em and forget 'em.

A different set of Muppets took their marks in the upper arches. Beauregard, wearing a purple tuxedo, ambled onstage and said, "Muppet Show intro, scene 3B." He held a clapboard up, snapped it on his fingers, winced, and walked offstage. The music playback began again, and the Muppets onstage sang,

"On the most sensational, inspirational,  
Celebrational, Muppetational,  
This is what we call The Muppet show!"

Kermit pushed his way through the crowd backstage, barely avoiding stepping on a cluster of furry, multicolored, spherical creatures, and asked, "How was that?"

"I'd say it's a keeper." Scooter pressed some buttons, and the second sequence played back from several angles.

"Oh, good. Let's keep going," Kermit said, and crossed the stage, where a third set of Muppets was assembling. They would do enough takes to fit everyone in, and then composite them together.

Some of the more experienced Muppets were hanging out backstage right, which for once was the less busy area. Miss Piggy, dressed in a strapless dress with matching gloves, looked as if she wanted to say something to Kermit, but instead just grabbed him up in a rib-creaking hug. He had barely the breath to squawk. Dr. Teeth, up in the balcony, grinned, as was his wont. Gonzo noticed, but did not comment on what was, after all, a fairly typical scene. Fozzie did not notice because he was busy pitching ideas at Gonzo. "It'd be really funny to have something come out of it."

"Like what? We've already done smoke, a bee, an airplane, my teeth, and lots of other stuff."

"How about a cream pie?"

"How would that fit in the trumpet?"

"The same way the plane did. Or maybe have it come at you instead, you know. Er, if you don't mind. Um, I mean, pies are funny."

Gonzo thought about that. "A pie to the face? Gotta admit, nobody'd see _that_ coming."

Camilla, who was wearing the chicken equivalent of an evening dress, her costume for her stint in the arches, clucked, _It's always pies with him._

Gonzo answered in English, "But with me it'd be different."

Billie, who was about to celebrate her first birthday, started forward. She was deep into the toddler stage, and wanted to wander everywhere and get into everything. Camilla quickly put her wings around the chick, who squeaked indignantly. She was tired of being fenced in. Without pausing the conversation Gonzo picked his daughter up. She stopped complaining—if she couldn't have adventure, attention would do—and began playing with the flower in his buttonhole.

"How about a cannonball? Have you shot a cannonball out your trumpet? You could do it the same way you did the plane and other stuff."

Startled, Gonzo said, "I can't believe I've never thought of that."

* * *

A few hours later, the day's shooting was finished. They had shot all but the episode-specific parts of the opening and closing segments, in the process testing out the new camera setup. Now Kermit called everyone into the theater house. They filled the lower seating area. Kermit sat informally on the edge of the orchestra pit. For once he did not have to shout for attention; everyone was eager to hear him. He said, "Everything looked great. We've gotten all the footage we can today; the rest will be shot show-by-show.

"The deal is inked. We'll be filming for TV during our regular shows. It won't be much different from before. We'll just use the best parts for TV."

Rowlf called out, "What do you mean by 'best'?"

Kermit answered, "Most entertaining, of course."

"Thought so," the dog said, grinning.

"There will be one significant change in the schedule," Kermit continued. "We'll be performing Fridays through Mondays as before, and rehearsing on Tuesdays through Thursdays. However, the show will only run Friday through Sunday. On Mondays we'll film backstage bits and anything else that doesn't fit in the stage show."

There was some muttering, but this was no surprise. Kermit waited it out, then said, "I want to thank everyone for sticking with the show. Some of you have been with me since the beginning, and we've picked up the rest of you over the years. I don't say it enough—thanks, everybody. You're all like family to me, and I think you're the greatest folks I've known in my life!"

Rowlf replied, "We're just about _all_ the folks you've known in your life!"

That wasn't true—Kermit had thousands of brothers, sisters, and other family members back in the swamp—but it was worth a laugh.

Kermit said, "The show will open in two weeks. We've got most of the acts for that one planned, and enough for a bunch more shows, but we need more. Lots more. And it doesn't matter if they're too silly or short for the stage show. We can still film things on the fourth day for the TV version. We're also booking guest stars. And this time some of them actually _want_ to be on the show!

"So, last word and then I'll shut up. It's gonna be great, so let's do what we do best: just dive in and have a ball!"

The cheers and applause knocked Kermit backward into the orchestra pit.

* * *

All characters except Billie are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Billie is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com), as is the overall story. Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	2. Go Fer

**Masks, Part 2:  
Go-Fer**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

It was a warm and sunny day. It was a perfect day for being outside, picnicking, tossing a frisbee around, jogging, puttering in a garden, sunbathing, or any of dozens of other outdoor activities.

Unfortunately, Scooter was doing none of those things. The Muppet Show was about to go into production, and he was booking .guest stars. The problem was not getting people; there were plenty of folks who wanted to be on the show. He and Kermit had winnowed the first batch and come up with a good, varied list of first-string stars from all areas of the media. The problem was scheduling. The TV deal had been finalized only a week before, and hardly anyone was available on such short notice, or so their agents said.

Scooter was worried. He'd been at it all day and had reached the end of the A-string list without a single nibble. Kermit was at the theater, and he had his own task load to manage, so Scooter looked through the second list, considering how likely it was that each one would be available. He made tick marks by several names, then picked up the phone for the next round.

Several phone calls later, Scooter was getting discouraged. He dialed another number and waited for an agent to pick up. "Hello, I'm Scooter Grosse with The Muppet Show. I'd like to speak to Mr. Hess's agent." After a pause, his eyes widened. "Mr. Hess? Oh, hi! No agent? That's fine, I don't have one either. I have you on a list of people interested in being on The Muppet Show. We've got an opening for the very first show, and you're the very first person I thought of. Can you come down next week? We're filming Friday through Monday." Pause. "Yes, seriously. We'll use a few of your songs, and the scripted bits will be simple. You can memorize them in minutes—though, I'll be honest, sometimes I think scripts are optional with this show." He laughed, then listened. "Great! I'll make the arrangements and call you back today!"

* * *

Later that day Scooter showed up at the theater and sought Kermit out. Kermit knew that Scooter had been wrestling with a tough task, and, noting his cheerful expression, asked hopefully, "Did you get a guest for next week?"

"Yep. I booked MC Frontalot. He's a hiphop rapper. Thought you'd like that."

"Hiphop. I get it. I've never heard of him, though."

Scooter feigned surprise. "Really? He's the world's 579th greatest rapper, or so his website says. He's really talented, really funny, and really the only one I could get for next week."

"Well, that's not what I was expecting, but great work, Scooter. Er... he will be suitable for the show, won't he?"

"Of course. I wouldn't book someone we'd have to bleep out," Scooter said while making a mental note to go over the lyrics of the songs they decided to use.

"Great. Thanks, Scooter." Kermit started to turn back to his own desk, which was piled high with paperwork, messages, other matters to be dealt with, and used sandwich plates and coffee mugs.

"One other thing, Boss-"

"Hmm?"

Scooter began, "I understand the camera setup, and I could do an okay job with it, but I can't do that and be stage manager at the same time."

Kermit nodded. They both knew that Scooter was critical as a stage manager; it wasn't a job that just anyone could do, particularly with this troupe. In fact, he was amazed that anyone was equal to the task. And, though the camera bank would record the action from many angles, static shots were boring. There was no substitute for a live cameraman—or woman, or creature, or whatever. "I don't know who I'd want running the cameras," he said.

"I had a thought about that too," Scooter said.

"Do tell."

"You know I'm taking theater arts at the college. I have a friend who's studying the tech stuff, and I bet he could do the job."

"Imagine that. Does he know anything about The Muppet Show? What we're like, as opposed to _normal_ theater?"

"Sure! He's seen it a few times, but he's never met any of us besides me. He's a little shy. I've seen him film college productions, though. He's pretty good. He's in his senior year and all his classes are in the afternoon, so his evenings are clear. And he could get course credit for this job, since it's practical experience in his field of study. Sounds like a perfect match, huh?"

Scooter sure had thought this out, Kermit noted. "Well, bring him by next week and have him film some of the rehearsals."

"Will do!" Scooter scampered off.

Kermit turned back to his desk. To think that Scooter had originally been an annoying kid foisted on him by his uncle, who just happened to own the theater. Scooter had quickly found his niche, and by now he was indispensable. So much for what they said about first impressions, he thought.

* * *

Kermit had just had enough time to go through the myriad minutia that he had to deal with to get the show going—including in no small part the bills—when an enthusiastic, raspy voice said, "Kermit, I got some great ideas for ya!"

"Oh, really," Kermit said, looking up at Gonzo.

"Yeah! This'll really make 'em sit up and stare. It's a musical tribute to _Eraserhead_-"

Kermit held up his hands, cutting him short. "Whoa, whoa, Gonzo. Look, see all this on my desk? I've had a long day and it's nowhere near over. Do me a favor today and don't throw a bunch of dumb ideas at me. Just tell me about the act you _really_ want to do."

Taken aback, Gonzo said, "Er... okay. Long story short, bungee cannon act."

"Bungee cannon?" Kermit repeated.

Seeing he had Kermit's interest, or at least perplexity, Gonzo said, "Yeah. Simple in concept, dynamic, and it won't damage the property. Plus, think of the 3-D effect! It's cutting edge!"

"You want to fire yourself out of a cannon while attached to bungee cords?" Kermit said in disbelief.

"Yeah!"

"Won't that ram you back into the cannon, or pull the cannon off the stage?"

Gonzo shook his head. "Nah, the cords won't be attached to the cannon. They'll be attached to the net behind the cannon. I'll go out above the audience, and before I hit the back wall they'll pull me back into the net."

"Which will be attached to the stage."

"Well, yeah, otherwise the net would fly out into the audience too. That'd be cool, but the insurance wouldn't cover it."

"You've been reading the insurance policy?" Kermit asked, surprised. "I thought you never paid attention to that."

"You kidding? Sometimes I get ideas by figuring out what it'll let me get away with! Anyhow, what do you say? It's safer than it looks because I can't possibly go off course, and it'll look really cool."

Kermit had his doubts concerning Gonzo's notion of safety, but this one really did seem to be well thought out. "Okay, Gonzo. When will it be ready?"

"I'm ready for the first show. Test fired it last night. I just need to make a bit of scenery."

"All right, I'll put you in."

"Great! Thanks, Kermit."

"And, uh, sorry I snapped at you, Gonzo. I've just been, er, a little frazzled lately."

Gonzo shrugged. "It's all right. It'll save me time thinking up dumb ideas."

"Oh, good. Say... what would you do if I okayed one of the dumb ideas?"

Gonzo grinned. "I'd yodel while riding a motorized pogo stick."

Kermit chuckled. "Figures. One thing, Gonzo—don't do too many cannon acts. You don't want to look like a one-trick pony."

"Yeah, I know. I've been researching some new ideas for my stunts. Stuff you won't believe!"

"Like what?"

Gonzo looked around dramatically, then leaned forward and said in a low voice, "In a word: electroplating."

Kermit stared, dumbfounded, at Gonzo. Gonzo said, "See, I told you you wouldn't believe it!"

"You're right, I don't."

"Just wait'll I show you!"

Gonzo went off happily, and Kermit turned back to his desk. What was Gonzo planning to do, bronze himself? Kermit knew better than to even guess. Resting his head in his hand, he muttered under his breath, "Sheesh."

* * *

All characters except Damian Hess are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. Damian Hess, AKA MC Frontalot, would be copyright © himself. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	3. Setting the Tone

**Masks, Part 3:  
Setting the Tone  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

It had been a busy day backstage at the Muppet Theater, and it was going to get much busier. Today was the first day of their new show, which would be filmed for broadcast. As they would be performing the same show Friday through Sunday, they would have three shows on tape, so they could choose between the best acts to compile into a television episode.

Backstage, everyone was getting ready. The Muppets were comfortable with television and movies; the cameras didn't distract them, especially as they were camouflaged so as not to distract the theater audience. The only person who was intimidated was Janken, the new camera operator. He was a smallish, lavender-skinned creature with a dark purple puff of feathery hair, fur just slightly lighter covering his body, and a long, mouselike tail tipped with another brush of purple. With looks like that, he fit right in.

"You did fine during the rehearsals," Scooter told him as they stayed out of the way of fast-moving props and scenery backstage left. "Just keep it up. And always be ready for ad-libs. You'll soon get a feel for who's likely to go off script. Stay with it when that happens—some of our best bits have been ad-libs. Or goofs."

"Yeah," Janken replied. "It's just nerves. I still can't believe I'm working on The Muppet Show!"

"You'll believe it when they draft you into a skit," Scooter replied teasingly.

"No thanks. I'm happy back here."

"It takes all kinds," Scooter replied. He waited until Janken turned back to the control panel, then mussed Janken's hair. Janken yiped and swatted at him, but by that time Scooter had darted away, laughing.

Janken was a little surprised at how friendly everyone here was. They accepted him into the fold right off the bat. It didn't hurt that Scooter had given him tips on how to get along with certain people. Smile at Fozzie's jokes. Don't worry about Gonzo; whatever he's doing, it's probably normal for him. When Miss Piggy speaks, give her your full attention, or at least be darn sure she thinks that's what you're doing, and never speak French to her. And so on. At first it sounded fake, but when he saw Scooter in action he realized that it was just the best way to get along with everyone.

He had turned back to the bank and was practicing maneuvering one of the side cameras—he'd have to be fast with them for Gonzo's act—when he was startled by the sound of Miss Piggy's voice. "Hello, dear. _Moi_ has a few teensy suggestions for _vous."_

He turned in his seat. "Sure, Miss Piggy," he said.

She laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. "This may be the first time you have worked with as big a star as _moi,_ but do not be intimidated. We are all one big, happy family." She glanced back as Gonzo's cannon, pushed by Sweetums, rumbled heavily past. "With a few redheaded stepchildren," she added under her breath.

She remembered what she was there for, and continued, "Now, dear, there should be a camera following me at all times. After all, _moi_'s_ publique_ will want to see my face. The one front and center will do."

Janken said, "Actually, Miss Piggy, I'll be following you with three cameras, one at the center and one on each side. That way, when you turn you won't necessarily turn away from the cameras."

"Oh, what a perfectly brilliant idea! _Moi_ is sure you'll do very well here," she said, and gave him a hug from behind.

"Thanks, I'll do my best," he said, his voice a little strained from shortness of breath.

She released him and swept off toward Wardrobe. As he caught his breath he thought, most of the Muppets were different outside offstage. They dropped their masks. Miss Piggy, however, never seemed to step outside her stage persona. It was, he thought, as if her mask was glued on.

Kermit saw Scooter crossing to backstage right, and waved him down. "Where's the final script?"

"The master copy's been printed out," Scooter answered.

"I mean, where are _everyone's_ copies?"

"We'll have it those soon. The copier repairman is due any minute," Scooter replied.

"The copier _repairman?"_

"Yeah. The copier's been on the fritz all week. I wrote you a note about that."

They both looked at the pile of paper on Kermit's desk. "Yeah," Kermit said.

"Don't worry. We'll get it fixed," Scooter told him.

Kermit shook his head. "I hope so. If we don't we won't have the foggiest idea what we're doing."

Scooter and Kermit exchanged glances. After a beat Kermit said, "You know what I mean."

* * *

Pops glanced up when the backstage door opened. A thin, bald man wearing thick glasses, a tie, and a pocket protector full of pens entered and looked around. Before Pops could speak Sam the Eagle intercepted him. "It's about time you got here! We have been waiting all day!"

The man said, "Sorry, I had a really hard time getting here."

"Bad traffic?" Pops said sympathetically.

"There weren't any cabs around, and I'm out of practice hitchhiking."

"Well, come with me," Sam said sternly. He guided the man to a superannuated photocopier, which looked as if it recently had suffered many indignities. It was leaking threads of smoke from somewhere within. A panel opened on the side and a half-dozen rats scurried out.

Rizzo looked up and told them, "We've been in there all day, but it's still not working."

"We cleared out a paper jam, though," another rat said.

"It's toasty warm in there. If you can't fix it, we can keep it as a condo," said a third.

"Shoo! Scat! We need to copy the script!" Sam said, waving the rats away.

"You haven't gotten the script copied yet?" the man asked.

"You see what we have to work with!" Sam griped. "Weirdos and vermin, all of them. I don't know why we even bothered with a script for this week's show, though."

"Why's that?" asked the man, who was cleaning a rat's nest out of the paper tray.

"This week's guest, sir! Of all things, he is a _rapper!_ I can hardly believe the depths to which we have sunk. To think that once upon a time our stage was graced by such titans of the opera as Rudolf Nureyev, Jean-Pierre Rampal, and Rich Little! And now we are debasing ourselves with this... this hippety-hop _hooligan!"_

"Could you move a little?" asked the man, who was trying to open the panel behind Sam.

"Hmm?'" The eagle glanced back, then stepped away from the machine. The man pulled the panel open, then jumped back. Sam was not so alert, and thus was on the receiving end of the cloud of black toner that billowed out. When the air cleared again his blue feathers were blackened on the side closest to the machine.

Scooter came over and said to the bespectacled man, "Oh, you're here! Have you gotten your script yet?"

Sam, who had not moved a feather, said, "Why would this person need a script?"

"He's our guest star." Scooter looked Sam up and down and said, "Guess the copier's still having problems, huh?"

Sam stared at the man, then lowered his head and covered his eyes with one hand in an attitude of despair.

Scooter led MC Frontalot away, saying, "This isn't a big problem. I've got some draft scripts. They'll be close enough, and your main parts are your songs anyway. Let me show you to your dressing room. I've got some waivers for you to sign too."

* * *

Eventually Sam removed his hand from his face, revealing a black smear across his beak. He looked down at himself, then walked away from the copier, saying through a gritted beak, "Makeup!"

* * *

All characters except Damian Hess are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. MC Frontalot is copyright © Damian Hess. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	4. Rapsody

**Masks, Part 4:  
Rapsody  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

"It's The Muppet Show, with out special guest star, MC Frontalot!"

The orchestra started playing the theme song, and the curtains opened to reveal the arches. The largest Muppets, most of the monsters, strutted onstage.

Offstage, The Muppets were waiting in the wings for their part in the familiar routine. All except Scooter, who for the last half hour had been rushing about with a sheaf of paper under one arm, searching the theater house for draft scripts. Finally he dumped them on Kermit's desk and looked at the cover pages. He selected the one with the most recent date—late yesterday evening—and hustled up to the dressing rooms.

He tapped on one door, then stuck his head in. "MC Frontalot? Here's the script."

MC Frontalot accepted the script that Scooter held out. "Thanks. Did you finally get the copier fixed?"

"Nope. That's the latest draft I could find. But don't worry, we don't stick to those things too closely anyway. Gotta go!" He darted out again, closing the door behind himself.

Frontalot looked at the cover. Someone had written on the cover, "Cuts are good." Below it, in different handwriting, was the reply "More cuts would be better!"

Scooter flew down the stairs and just barely managed to hit his mark in the arches for the last lines of the theme song. The logo came down, and Gonzo raised an odd-looking wind instrument that ended in two pipes and began playing. A large, vicious-looking snake rose in front of him, then wrapped itself around him and dragged him out of sight.

* * *

The Muppets left the stage. Gonzo said to the snake, "Good work, Eva."

"Don't mention it," she replied amiably. She uncoiled, releasing Gonzo, who quickly took off his purple jacket. His stunt costume was underneath. Camilla handed him his goggles.

Beauregard was waiting in the wings with an industrial vacuum cleaner. Sam, still blackened on one side by toner, looked at it, then muttered, "Let's get this over with."

They walked off to Sam's dressing room. Kermit glanced at Gonzo, who was fastening on his helmet. Gonzo gave him a quick thumbs-up, then went onto the stage. Kermit stepped out in front of the red curtains and said, "Hi ho, and welcome to our first televised episode of The Muppet Show since, er, the last one! This is going to be broadcast in at least two or three counties—I hope—so feel free to applaud as wildly as you want." He made a face, then looked offstage. "We can edit that out, right?"

Janken, startled, nodded without speaking. Kermit said, "Good," then faced the audience again. "Tonight we have a special guest, MC Frontalot, who, of all the rappers in the world, is definitely one of them, or so his publicist claims. But first, to start the show off with a bang, we have The Great Gonzo!"

The curtains opened as the trumpets played a brief fanfare. Gonzo stood on a stage that was bare except for himself, a cannon pointed at the balcony, a net behind the cannon, and one of the everpresent chickens. Behind him was a brick wall, undecorated except for a "NO SMOKING" warning in red paint. Over his stunt costume he wore a harness which trailed two long cords, one on each side, which were attached to either side of the net.

Gonzo cried out, "Greetings, lovers of culture and mayhem! How many times have you been to 3-D movies and thought that the headaches and motion sickness just weren't enough?"

As Gonzo went through his patter Kermit glanced at the net, then looked again. It wasn't the one he had used during rehearsal. It looked flimsy. In fact, Kermit could see from here that the frame was made of PVC pipe and the netting was a used tennis net. He went pale.

Gonzo climbed up into the cannon muzzle. "I will fire myself up and into the audience's very airspace, then be pulled back onto the stage by these bungee cords, landing safely in this net! And now my lovely assistant will light the fuse!" He started to slide down into the cannon, then looked out into the audience and said, "Good luck."

The fuse cord sparkled for several seconds. Then the cannon boomed, and Gonzo flew out, trailing the cords like the tail of a comet. They pulled taut, slowing him as he approached the balcony. For a moment he hung motionless, the forces perfectly balance. But he did not snap back, because his nose had neatly—and accidentally—hooked the handrail. Gonzo paused, surprised, then said in a slightly muffled voice, "Er, can somebody help me out here?"

A helpful member of the audience unhooked him, with some difficulty on both sides as the bungee cords were very taut. When the task was accomplished Gonzo said, "Thanks!" Then he snapped back to the stage, into the net, through the net, and through the back wall, leaving a perfect Gonzo-shaped hole in the bricks. After a tense moment he looked back out, glanced around at the wreckage, then said "Oops."

The curtains closed. Kermit went around the back of the stage. There, behind the breakaway section of a false back wall, was the real, much sturdier net, still intact. Gonzo was unhooking himself from the bungee cords. Kermit sighed with relief. "Gonzo! I thought for a moment there you'd finally gotten yourself killed."

Gonzo grinned widely. "Gotcha!"

"Yeesh." Kermit went back. Gonzo crossed to the other side of the stage. He asked Janken, "Did the camera get all that? Even the bit with the balcony?"

Janken replied without looking away from the monitors, "Yes."

"How'd it look? Can you play it back?"

"Sorry, I can't do that now. I'm filming the stage. I can play it back after the show, though."

"Oh, yeah, of course. Thanks," Gonzo said, and went off to change.

* * *

While that was going on, the cannon and net had been rushed off the stage and replaced by a long table with a podium in the center. Sam, whose feathers were once again blue, not to mentioned rumpled and slightly thinner on one side, was already seated at the left with Rowlf, and MC Frontalot was on the right with Animal. Kermit was standing at the center. When the curtains opened Kermit said, "Now it's time to raise the intellectual bar for of the show. With us are MC Frontalot, noted nerdcore hiphop rapper; Sam the Eagle, noted music critic; Rowlf, our control group; and Animal, who was sitting here when we started and we couldn't get him to move. Today's topic is the state of current music culture."

Sam said firmly, "There is none."

Rowlf asked, "How can you say that?"

"Very easily. All the truly great music has already been written. Modern rock and roll and other such nonsense is mere noise!"

_"Like_ noise! Noise good!" Animal interjected enthusiastically.

"I don't know about that," MC Frontalot said. "Culture is about how people live, the way they see the world, and that finds its way into music."

"Nonsense! Culture is excellence in the arts!"

Rowlf, who had opened a thick book on the table, said, "Actually, Sam, he's got you there. See here: 'The sum of attitudes, customs, and beliefs that distinguishes one group of people from another. Culture is transmitted, through language, material objects, ritual, institutions, and art, from one generation to the next.'"

Sam looked at the book. "Where does it say that?"

Rowlf pointed to the page. "Right here."

Sam read, murmuring to himself as he scanned the page. Animal asked, "Oxford Unabridged?"

"American Heritage," Rowlf answered.

"Ahh." Animal nodded knowingly.

Unwilling to concede defeat, Sam slapped the table with one hand and declared, "Be that as it may, you cannot deny that music today is trash. It is filled with vulgarity, disrespect for women, and other such naughtiness."

"Actually, music can express anything the musician wants to say," Frontalot said.

Sam turned to him. "And what, sir, do _you_ have to say in your so-called hip-hops?"

Calmly Frontalot replied, "I've done raps about gamer and online culture, educational and political issues, my life as a musician, Wagner's _Die Walküre..."_

Sam said, "Whose what?"

Interested, Rowlf said, "You wrote a rap about an opera? That's something I'd like to hear."

"Is that a song cue?" Frontalot asked.

The opening trumpets of _Ride of the Valkyries_ began playing. Kermit answered, "I'd say that's a yes."

Animal began beating on the podium with a pir of drumsticks, providing a beat. Frontlot took a microphone out from under the desk and stood. He began chanting,

"I got invited to go see The Ring; I thought it  
Was probably a musical about hobbits."

Bean Bunny hopped out onstage wearing a vaguely Vikinglike costume. He smiled cutely at the audience, then began scampering around.

"Started out promisingly enough:  
Little fellow running 'round, there were trees and stuff,"

Janice wandered onstage wearing a white, diaphanous robe. She looked about, confused. Then she and Bean then stepped out of the way of a short sprinkle of water coming from the fly space.

"And a shelter from a storm, and a girl it seems,  
Though the dialogue don't make no sense to me,"

Link Hogthrob, also dressed as a Viking and wearing an eyepatch and a fake beard, appeared onstage and began to threaten Bean.

"And her hubby come out, he look a little menacin',  
Says he gonna eat you like a little piece of venison.  
When it's um... morning I guess? I'm confused.  
Does the wife know the hero? There seems to be clues.  
There's a sword in a tree. Why's a tree in the house?  
Did she slip her man a mickey? How come Siggy don't get out?"

Bean, Link, and Janice were trying to act out the narrative and not having much luck. Meanwhile, Beauregard had helpfully pushed in a tree on a rolling platform and nailed a cardboard sword onto it.

"How come neither of 'em making for the hills right now?  
As for brothers loving sisters, isn't this disallowed?  
Isn't this kinda how bad fates come about?  
Ima need an intermission just to figure it out."

Link, Janice, and Bean gathered into a huddle in the pause between the verses, trying to make sense of the story line. Then Frontalot continued,

"Now here come poppa, he's the one-eyed jack.  
Brünnhilde is the daughter with the armor on her rack."

Link quickly turned to face the audience when he heard his cue, and then Miss Piggy made her entrance, clad in Valkyrie armor. She posed for the audience. Then she heard her description, startled, and turned to glare at Frontalot.

"Does he lack in discretion? He backs up quick.  
Daddy Wo don't ever seem to step to Ma Frick.  
She got him by the thick of the beard, she's insistent;  
But the subtitles flickered and I missed it."

Link had snickered at Piggy's annoyance; she retaliated by pulling his fake beard, then letting it snap back, knocking him off the stage.

"Odin doesn't get to get his son killing dragons?  
(Still sounds like a job for the elder Baggins.)  
He can't even incite his daughter to fix fights?  
I'm about to go to sleep in my seat, all right?"

Bean and Janice were standing back now, watching Piggy and Link fight—or, rather, Link cower from Piggy's threats. Behind Frontalot, Rowlf and Kermit began placing bets as Sam watched, aghast. The song continued,

"'Cause the music's gettin' stupid, it don't got no beats  
And that's the twenty-second time I heard the leitmotif  
And I cite no grief but opera ain't for me;  
It's for the kinda people, yo, who who listen to the CBC  
And sip on tea, and read up on the paper.  
Another intermission coming; Ima be the great escaper."

Sam tried to sneak offstage, but Scooter blocked his path. Reluctantly the eagle allowed returned to his spot at the table. In an attitude of frustration, he leaned his head in one hand.

"Sneaking out the lobby, got ushed by an usher.  
Showed me to my row and reminded me to hush up.  
I settled in, waiting for the boredom to commence,  
Definitely unprepared for what come next."

The stage began to shake. Bean, Piggy, Janice, and Link looked around in alarm.

"When the strings set in and the horns come chasing  
It's kind of like I just got rewarded for my patience.  
This is more like it. This I could keep:  
Ladies in helmets who ride eight deep."

With a great noise, a pair of cows galloped onto the stage, each bearing four chickens or penguins, galloped onstage. The birds were wearing horned helmets with blonde yarn braids attached to the back, and so were the cows.

"Grooving down in my seat, I'm rocking 'n' squirming.  
Even almost got over the fact that they're talking German.  
I'm learning I might even have to come back.  
Wonder if they sell a ticket for just the third act?"

Frontalot struggled keep a straight face as the penguins and chickens waged war against those who did not have the good fortune to have a table to hide behind. Rowlf and Kermit were watching with great interest. Animal looked as if he would have jumped into the fray if he hadn't been occupied by percussion. Sam watched silently, having given up a verse earlier.

"Asked on the way out, did I follow? I say, 'Sort of,  
And I gotta say I'm glad it weren't the Rings that there's a lord of.  
Saw a lot of similarities but I'm pretty sure  
That this was an adaptation of Star Wars.'"

As the music faded, Rowlf asked, "Star wars? You sure about that?"

Frontalot shrugged and answered, "Yeah, you know, the twins and everything. I'll probably look it up on the Internet just to be sure."

The curtains closed. The Muppets exited the stage, led by Bean Bunny, who was pursued by hoofed and feathered valkyries clucking and quacking "Kill de wabbit, kill de wabbit!"

When the stampede had passed, Frontalot asked Scooter, "Did they _plan _all that?"

Reasonably Scooter answered, "Of course. We had to get the chickens and penguins helmets."

"Oh. Good point," Frontalot said.

Kermit went onstage to introduce the next act. Frontalot went back to flipping through his draft script. Sam went to his dressing room for a lie down.

* * *

All characters except Janken and MC Frontalot are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. MC Frontalot is copyright © Damian Hess. He also holds the copyright on _Rhyme of the Nibelung_. All copyrighted properties (and real people) are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	5. Backstage Front

**Masks, Part 5:  
Backstage Front**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

The curtain opened on Act 2. Except that Fozzie was doing a monologue in front of the curtains, so they weren't actually open. The set for the next number was elaborate, a garden with a swing and stream, and they had been setting it up during intermission. It was nearly ready now, but not quite; Sweetums and Thog were still putting the swing together. All the Muppets for that number—Miss Piggy and a large collection of frogs—were waiting offstage.

Fozzie started his monologue energetically. "Heya heya heya! This isn't actually the first time we've had a rapper on The Muppet Show. In fact, I'm a rapper. Every Christmas, I wrap presents! Aaaa!" He waited for laughter, what he got was silence and an uncomfortable cough. "Y'see, because 'rap' and 'wrap' sound alike, and..."

Statler called out, "Don't bother explaining. We got the joke."

Waldorf added, "We just didn't want it!"

Fozzie glanced over to the side. Kermit looked at the stage behind the curtains—the swing was still not ready—then glanced over at Miss Piggy. She was glaring silently at the monsters struggling with the scenery. He gestured to Fozzie as if stretching something between his hands: draw it out, we have time to fill.

Fozzie gulped and continued. It was a bad night for him; even Statler and Waldorf seemed bored by his act, needling him less than usual. Kermit looked behind the curtain again. The swing was nearly set up. He caught Thog's eye and drew rapid circles in the air, the signal to hurry it up. Having gotten Kermit's message, and also having noticed Miss Piggy's irritation, Thog nodded.

Onstage, the situation was getting desperate. Kermit decided to take pity on Fozzie. He took out the bear rescue kit and filled two foil pie plates with whipped cream. Then he marched out onstage and said, "Fozzie, what are you doing? This act is terrible!"

That stung, but the bear knew it was true. "I know! I'm doing my part, telling jokes! Don't they know they're supposed to laugh?" he said, gesturing at the audience.

Statler shouted, "Hey, would you hold it down? We just got to sleep!"

Theatrically Kermit declared, "Fozzie, this monologue is a disgrace to The Muppet Show. I challenge you to a duel. Pies at five paces."

Fozzie straightened. "I accept your challenge!" He swatted Kermit's face with one end of his tie. Kermit scowled at him, then turned away.

The audience watched as the two stood back-to-back, each holding a pie in one hand. In the orchestra pit, Animal started a low drumroll. They counted five paces, then turned. Kermit threw his pie. It missed, and hit Rowlf's piano instead. The dog ducked, so only a bit of the cream splattered him.

The audience laughed. Fozzie, startled, looked around. He drew back as if to throw the pie at Kermit, then wilted visibly. "I can't do it. I just can't. Kermit, you're right, I'm the worst comedian that's ever been! There's only one thing I can do to save my honor!" He faced the audience, paused dramatically, and then splatted the pie into his own face with both hands.

The audience laughed. Kermit heard Sweetums, who was just behind the curtain, say, "We're ready!"

_Good timing_, Kermit thought; he didn't know how much further he could have stretched this. He flailed his arms and yelled, "Out! Out! Get off the stage!" Fozzie, whose face was covered with a pie plate, panicked and dashed into the curtain. It opened, sweeping him off into the wings. Kermit hustled offstage after him.

Backstage, Kermit said to Fozzie, "You all right? I was going to let you win."

"You were? I thought you missed for real." The bear wiped cream off of his eyes. Apologetically he said, "Thanks for helping me out. I'll do better tomorrow."

Kermit patted his back and said, "I know." Well, he knew that Fozzie would try, and he couldn't ask for more than that. As Fozzie went off to wash up Kermit looked at the stage.

The musical intro to Piggy's song was just finishing. The stage looked like a garden overgrown with ivy. Frogs were scattered about in the foliage and the stream, and one was perched atop the frame of the swing. Miss Piggy, dressed in a white, frilly, old-fashioned and carrying a lace parasol, stepped onstage and began singing:

"On a magic night  
When the way you feel  
Is a mystery,  
It will be revealed.  
Could be an angel  
From up above  
With a flower from the garden,  
The garden of love."

She plucked a rose from the bush, closed her eyes, and sniffed it as the frogs echoed her last line.

Piggy's song went off exactly as rehearsed, which was no surprise. The act itself was simple; the tricky part was the scenery. On the other side of the theater, Scooter was watching over Janken's shoulder as he operated the cameras. Several still cameras captured the entire stage from different angles, so Janken only needed to follow her with one. Scooter said in a low voice, "Looks good."

Not glancing away, Janken said, "It helps that she knows how to play to the camera."

"She sure does." He squeezed Janken's shoulder, then went off again.

Janken watched Miss Piggy. He knew every move, gesture, and expression by heart; she had rehearsed the living daylights out of this song. If she was always like this, it would make his job easier.

MC Frontalot stepped out of his dressing room. When he looked over the railing he saw a gaggle, or herd, or flock of colorful, furry, and feathery creatures waiting in the wings. Scooter appeared out of nowhere and asked, "Are you ready for your number? I hope you don't mind the edits to your songs."

Frontalot answered, "Yeah. It's fine, I expected we'd have to tweak a few words."

"Great. We've got the Koozebanian Acrobatic League—that's them down there—then Muppet Labs, and then you're on." Scooter vanished again.

The curtains closed as Miss Piggy's act finished. The stagehands and larger Muppets rushed onstage to replace that set with another. Meanwhile the acrobats went onstage and began their act to the tune of the _Sabre Dance._ They bounded, fluttered, and otherwise moved about in bewildering formation, making patterns with their various shapes and colors.

Frontalot went downstairs. Rowlf was hanging around backstage. The dog said, "Hey. How's it going?"

"Hi. It's... wow. This is something. I've never done a show like this, especially from a draft script."

"I know, I know, it's weird for us too. Usually we don't have scripts at all," Rowlf told him.

Skeptically Frontalot asked, "You're kidding, right?"

The dog laughed. "Yeah, I'm kidding. But we do ad-lib a lot. Keeps us on our toes. Say, in the panel you said you had songs about all sorts of things. What other stuff have you rapped about?"

Frontalot said, "A little of everything, really. Let's see, I did a theme song for a webcomic, songs about how obscure I am—back when I was even more obscure than I am now—and how nobody could remember my name... I've had a lot of fun writing songs for Song Fight."

"Song fight? Yeah, Dr. Teeth and I got into one of those last year," Rowlf said, nodding.

Frontalot explained, "Actually, it's an online competition for song writers. They post a title and a deadline on the website, and people enter songs written around the title."

"Huh," Rowlf said, interested. "What kind of titles do they give out?"

"Off the top of my head, _Livin' At The Corner Of Dude & Catastrophe, Romantic Cheapskate,_ _Floating Bridge_, _Yellow Lasers, Fresh Dog-_"

"Fresh dog?" Rowlf said worriedly. "Do I want to ask?"

Frontalot explained, "It's not like that. I wrote about my pet and how awesome he is."

"Oh, that's okay. Some of my best friends are pets," Rowlf said, relieved. "I never thought someone would write a rap about us dogs. I'd like to hear it."

Frontalot said, "Right now?"

"Why not? There's time."

"In that case, sure." Frontalot glanced around, then tapped on the desk with one hand for a beat. He began,

"Yo, I got a little dog, the doggy's name is Doggy Fresh,  
And out of every single dog I've ever met, he's the best.  
And the rest of the dogs in the world, I wouldn't own 'em,

Several other Muppets noticed the impromptu performance and came over to listen in. Frontalot continued,

"Yo my moms tried to clone him—I got sewn in  
His skin a little microchip  
So he could be a cyborg, wanna get him equipped  
With a GPS and the 802.11b  
So he could hit me up on IRC when he gotta go out and pee  
And not just stand by the door and whine.  
Wish he'd grow an opposable thumb sometimes."

Rowlf held up a hand and wiggled his thumb. "Yeah, they come in handy."

Frontalot continued,

"Yo, but I don't mind it, gets me up and about  
It's good to walk around the block, remind the dog he ain't allowed  
To eat no street chicken, and chase no squirrels,  
Just to keep on kicking with a tail that curls,  
Just to keep on fancy stepping with the ears that flop,  
Just to rock, yes, Doggy Fresh, you don't stop!"

The other Muppets laughed as Frontalot chanted "Who's a good boy?" repeatedly. Rowlf, getting into the act, panted as if begging, then tossed his head, flopping his ears. Front mimed tossing him a treat, which Rowlf caught with one hand. The other Muppets, both in the wings and up on the second floor balcony, were grooving along with the song.

"I got a little dog, the doggy's name is Doggy Fresh,  
And he be crazy charismatic like David Koresh.  
You can try to stay miffed about the fur on your clothes  
But look out, you 'bout to giggle when he lick on your nose."

"I'm not taking this act _that_ far," Rowlf said.

"And he don't like baths, and he barks at intruders,  
He be begging where the food is like his owner was the cruelest  
Non-dog-food-purchasing dog owner ever.  
He occasionally ekes out a treat through this endeavor,  
But you got to forgive him with his big brown eyes.  
You got to go on to admit my dog's incredibly fly.  
He 'bout as fierce as a wolf, 'bout as big as a fox,  
If he drops one beat I'ma knock 'em out the box.  
Yo your cat's name may be Maceo,  
But my dog is Doggy Fresh and Doggy Fresh is good to go!"

Frontalot tapped the final beats on the desk, then finished. The other Muppets laughed appreciatively. Rowlf said, "I can dig that. Of course, we dogs are good at digging."

Frontalot said, "Glad you liked it. I never expected to perform it for a talking dog."

"Oh, we all talk. It's a little harder to understand if you're not another dog, though. Woof."

The conversation was cut short when the colorful creatures finished flinging themselves about onstage and came backstage again. Scooter called, "Muppet Labs!" Bunsen and Beaker went onstage. As Kermit introduced them, Rowlf said in a low voice, "You know we've got a camera back here too, don't you?"

Frontalot looked around. "No, I didn't. Where?"

Rowlf pointed. "Just in case anything interesting happens back here. Like that." He waved to the camera.

After a beat, Frontalot waved too. "Hi, Mom."

* * *

All characters except Janken are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. MC Frontalot is copyright © Damian Hess. He also holds the copyright on _Fresh Dog_. The song _The Garden of Love_ is copyright © WingNut Films. All copyrighted properties (and real people) are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	6. Deja Vu

**Masks, Part 6:  
Deja Vu  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

The curtain opened on Muppet Labs. This time the lab table was set for breakfast, with juice, a carton of milk, and what looked like an extensively modified coffee percolator. Dr. Bunsen Honeydew was wearing a night cap, and Beaker had a robe over his lab coat. Honeydew began, "Good morning from Muppet Labs. It's a scientifically established principle that breakfast is one of the most important meals of the day. And the centerpiece of every breakfast is unquestionably the cereal."

Beaker held up a box of Sugar Caltrops and said, "Ta-dah!"

"Yes—wait, no, Beaker, not that one. The other one."

Beaker meeped, looking at the box, then shrugged and presented a box of Kap'n Alphabet.

"Yes," Bunsen said approvingly. "Now pour the cereal, Beakie." Beaker placed a bowl on the table and poured the cereal in. "Oh, that looks delicious... but there's still one problem. The letter X. I see one right there." Beaker peered into the bowl, took out a piece, and tossed it over his shoulder. Bunsen continued, "No cereal is perfect. Either you must accept their flaws—raisins, those icky oat flakes in granola, green loops that utterly spoil the aesthetic harmony of fruit-flavored cereal, or, in this case, unwanted letters of the alphabet—or spend hours removing them before you eat." Beaker shook his head and meeped tiredly. "Well, settle for second-best breakfasts no longer with the Muppet Labs Cereal Sorter! Just put the cereal in, program it to remove unwanted elements, and enjoy the deliciousness of idealized cereal. Beaker, will you do the honors?"

Beaker squeaked in the affirmative and put the bowl into the former percolator. Bunsen said, "Now let's remove the letter X... and while we're at it, I never was fond of W or H. They're so spiky." Beaker pressed some buttons on the front, then asked a question. Bunsen said, "Good thinking, but actually I _do_ like Y. Y? Y not?" He tittered at his own joke. Beaker shook his head and pressed another button, and a panel above the cereal bowl opened. Spidery metal arms reached down into the bowl and began rifling through the cereal. When they found a letter they did not like they tossed it out.

"You see, within moments you can have a perfect breakfast—" Bunsen flinched as a piece of cereal ricocheted off his head. "Though the science of Muppet Labs." Beaker squeaked and moved away; the sorter was picking up speed and pelting him with letters. Bunsen held up a hand to protect his face and asked, "Good heavens, is this cereal _all_ H, W, and X?" He took out the empty bowl. "I suppose it was. My, what a terrible breakfast that would have been!"

The machine was flashing a red light and beeping demandingly. Beaker poured another bowl of cereal and nervously edged it into the machine. The metal arms darted down and began flinging more cereal about. Bunsen, flinching as pieces struck him, said, "This machine is as versatile as it is useful. It can also be programmed to sort other edibles, making tan M&Ms and grapes in fruit salad a thing of the past. So, good day from Muppet Labs."

* * *

MC Frontalot was waiting backstage, chatting with Kermit as he waited for his final number. The two scientists left the stage. Their footsteps crunched; some of the cereal had made it this far. Kermit told them, "Great stuff! Keep it up."

Bunsen replied, "Thank you, Kermit. I only hope that it will be used for the betterment of mankind."

Kermit said in an aside to Frontalot, "They didn't do any property damage this time. I want to encourage that."

Scooter hustled up to Kermit. "Good news, boss. We're not going to overrun after all, since the mess won't take any time to clean up, and it'll be behind the curtain anyway."

Behind them, Beauregard, carrying a load of heavy-duty cleaning equipment, looked out onstage. After a moment of surprise, he dropped it all with a noisy crash and went out with a mere push broom.

"Well, you ready?" Scooter asked MC Frontalot.

Frontalot replied, "It's just me and a mic, rappin' to the audience. No skit, no crossed-out or penciled-in lines to memorize. Yeah, I'm ready. Nothing could possibly go wrong."

"You underestimate us," Kermit quipped.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Kermit said, and went onstage to introduce him.

Scooter crossed behind the curtains to backstage left, where the rest of the cast for this number were waiting. Bobby Benson was holding the bar of a baby carriage, in which reposed one of his Baby Band, a blue-eyed, blonde little girl wearing a frilly dress and a diaper. Scooter asked her, "Are you ready?"

The baby took the pacifier out of her mouth with an audible pop and replied, "I was born weady!"

She held her arms up. Bobby lifted her out of the stroller and set her on the ground. She toddled into the wings and waited for her cue. Scooter glanced back at the collection of props for the act. All was fine. He stepped out of the way and went over to the camera console.

He and Janken watched the act on the monitors. Amazingly, it went by perfectly smoothly, if you considered that Frontalot's script had not mentioned any of the act accompanying his song and ignored the crunching sound they made every time they took a step. Scooter had turned away when he heard a stifled laugh. Looking back, he saw that Beauregard had stepped out in front of the curtains and was sweeping up the rest of the cereal.

* * *

After the show Beauregard went out to tidy the audience; he had finished cleaning the stage during the show. Most of the Muppets, after changing out of their costumes (where applicable), gathered around the camera console. They all wanted to see how the show looked. Janken was happy to oblige, and played back the acts as they were requested.

On the other side of the theater, Pops the stage doorman was reading a tabloid, his feet up on the desk, when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he shouted.

The back door opened, and a Monster entered. She looked grandmotherly, or at least her dress and grayish hair did. Pops asked, "What can I do for ya?"

She asked, "Would it be possible for me to speak to The Great Gonzo?"

"Oh, sure. Just a minute." He turned in the direction of the stage and shouted, _**"Hey, Gonzo!"**_

From the other side of the theater came an echoing shout, _"What?"_

_**"Somebody here to see ya!"**_

_"Okay, coming!"_

Pops glanced at the woman. She looked uneasy. He said, "Don't worry. Gonzo's a little weird, but he's a nice fella."

She smiled a little stiffly. "I'm sure he is."

Gonzo emerged from the backstage right wings. Pops pointed to the lady with his thumb and said, "Ya got a visitor."

"Really? Hi," Gonzo said amiably.

"Hello, Gonzo. How have you been?"

That was an odd opening question for someone he didn't know. He answered, "Fine. And you?"

"I've been well." She paused, then said, "Gonzo... do you recognize me?"

Gonzo was about to say no, but something about her voice was vaguely familiar. He looked at her carefully. She had light green fur, a short yellow beak, and featherlike, dark green hair that was shading to gray. Fairly nondescript for a Monster. Still, he had the feeling he'd seen her somewhere. "Jog my memory. Where would I remember you from?"

"Missouri," she said in a low voice.

Missouri? He hadn't been there since... oh. A memory clicked into place, suddenly and startlingly vivid. He stared at her and went pale. Then he turned away. "I have nothing to say to you," he murmured.

The woman stepped forward, one hand out as if to touch him, but held back. "Gonzo? I just want to ask you one question."

"What?" he said, his voice tight.

"What happened to you?"

He was silent for several seconds, as if ignoring her. Then, without looking back, he beckoned with two fingers. "Come with me."

Beauregard came up to Kermit and said, "Mr. Kermit, it's going to take me longer to clean the theater than I thought."

Kermit glanced at Bo. The janitor looked unhappy. He left the crowd watching the 'rushes' and asked, "What's the problem?"

"It's the new concessions," Bo said. "When it was just popcorn and soft drinks I could use the blower to push the popcorn and cups to the front and sweep them up, then mop up the spilled drinks, but now that we've got candy and hot dogs and things, it makes more of a mess."

"Is there a lot of that?" Kermit asked, glancing over at the rest of the cast to see if he had anyone's attention. He did. Rizzo the Rat's ears had perked up at the mention of discarded food.

"Oh, yes. I can do it all, it'll just take a while," Bo told him.

Raising his voice slightly, Kermit said, "It's a shame that you'll have to clean up all that food by yourself."

Bo sighed, then straightened up determinedly. "Yeah, but a janitor's gotta do what a janitor's gotta do."

Out of the corner of his eye Kermit said that all the rats were listening now. Kermit said, "Atta boy, Bo. Still, it's not fair to put the whole burden on you, all those half-eaten hot dogs and boxes of chocolates and candy bars. Tomorrow we'll look into hiring a full cleaning squad."

_"Aaaah!"_ Rizzo screamed, unable to take it any longer. _"We'll_ do it!"

Feigning surprise, Kermit asked, "Are you sure? It's a big job."

"We know! But we can handle it!" He calmed himself somewhat, then said, "Bo's taken out so much garbage, he's practically a rat himself. What kind of finks would we be if we didn't help out one of our own?"

"Ratfinks?" another rat volunteered, but was ignored.

Bo was genuinely touched. "Wow, thanks, guys! I don't know what to say."

"Don't say nuttin'! Just get outta the way!" Bo stepped back, and the rats scampered into the seating area. Within seconds they were flinging surprisingly clean drink cups, wrappers, and other such trash into the aisles so Bo could put them in the bin.

* * *

Gonzo led his visitor into his dressing room and shut the door firmly behind her. "What happened to me? What do you _think_ happened to me?" he said in disbelief to his former foster mother.

"I never knew," she explained. "You just disappeared. You were living with us one day and gone the next. We searched for months, but there wasn't a clue what happened to you. We thought... when you were never found, we gave up hope that you were still alive."

He looked away. Of course they hadn't found him. He had done his best to drop out of sight. He said, "You remember the train yard a mile away? I rode a boxcar out of town."

"Why?"

"You were going to send me back."

Long pause. Then she said, "Why do you think that?"

He exclaimed, "Yours was my _sixth_ foster family! You think I didn't know the signs by then? I couldn't take being told 'Go away, we don't want you' yet again, so I left."

"But where did you go?"

His shrug looked like a spasm. "I don't know. I just stuck with the train until it stopped somewhere far away. I don't remember where I got off."

"All alone? You were only fourteen-"

His eyes on the floor, he said, "Maybe. Nobody really knows how old I am, not even me."

She asked, "How did you get along afterward?"

She sounded so concerned. Bitterly he thought, too little, too late. "Eh. I managed. I kept out of trouble. Eventually I got a job here. That's all you need to know."

"We missed you," she said softly.

He burst out, "Then why were you going to send me away? Why did everyone always unhook me and throw me back? What was _wrong_ with me?"

"Nothing was wrong with you, Gonzo. You weren't happy with us."

That answer shocked him. She continued gently, "We could tell that you didn't want to live with us. We hoped that you would eventually warm to us, but you didn't. We couldn't keep you if you were unhappy. We hoped that you would find a family that would be better for you."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You were going to throw me back for my own good. You and five other families. Talk about killing someone with kindness."

"I'm sorry..."

"Yeah. Me too. And none of you ever said anything to me about it. Didn't anyone think of asking me what I wanted?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Yeah." He could feel years' worth of bitterness close to the surface, and he told himself to speak carefully. Keep control. He was not a child any longer; she had no claim on him. He took a deep breath and said, "If you'd asked, I'd have told you that what I wanted most was a last name."

She paused, surprised. "You already had one."

"Frackle? That was just a label they stuck on me. They thought I look like a Frackle, so I must be one. Hah. What I wanted most was for someone to give me a real last name. Make me part of their lives, not just some kid passing through." He tried to laugh; it sounded like a cough. "It took a while, but eventually someone wanted me enough to give me a name."

"Someone did adopt you?" she said hopefully.

"No." He gestured at a framed playbill hung on the wall. It was cheaply printed, and had yellowed with age.

She read it. It was for the grand opening of The Muppet Show, back in the seventies. Juliet Prowse was the headline, followed by a list of Muppet performers. She looked carefully to see if there was anything she was missing, then said, "I don't understand."

"I didn't want them to bill me as Gonzo Frackle. I hated that name. I told them, just call me Gonzo. Someone thought that was too plain, I guess, and billed me as 'Gonzo the Great' because it sounded better. I kind of liked that, and it stuck. So I changed my name to 'Gonzo The Great'. Why not?"

"'The Great' is your last name?" she said.

"Middle and last, yeah." He considered not completing the story—his personal life was none of her business!—but decided to go on nevertheless. "It was, anyway. I changed it again last year. I got married."

She had noticed the nest next to the makeup desk. "To Camilla?"

"Yes. She gave me her last name. I was happy being Gonzo The Great... but it's even better being Gonzo Orphington."

"Congratulations."

He wasn't about to tell her about their daughter, Billie. They had kept her existence out of the media to protect her from scrutiny, and he saw no reason to confide in this woman.

He said nothing more. He did not look at her. He had not looked her in the face since he first recognized her. He was visibly tense, as if her mere presence was painful to him. She said, "Gonzo... I'm sorry I upset you. And I understand. I hope you and Camilla are very happy together. I wish there was something I could do..."

"There's only one thing you can do for me," Gonzo said in a low voice.

"What is it?"

"Don't tell anyone how you know me," he said.

Their eyes met. She saw anger in Gonzo's eyes, and bitterness... but mostly pain. She said, "I won't." She reached for the door handle, and when he said nothing more she opened it. "Goodbye."

* * *

When, soon afterward, Camilla came to the dressing room to let Gonzo know that they had reached his act in the rushes she was surprised to find it locked. She pecked on the door. A moment later the lock clicked and the door opened.

She entered. Gonzo was behind the door, and he looked terrible. "Gonzo?"

He shut the door and locked it again. "I'll be okay in a minute."

She doubted that. _What happened?_

"Someone came to see me. My last foster mother." His voice cracked, and he put his hand over his mouth.

He had only spoken to her once about his childhood, and although he had included few details, just the way he had talked about it told her clearly what a sad time it had been. This visit had brought that back to the surface.

Camilla was not a good talker, but talk was not what he needed. She put her wings around him. He embraced her tightly and pressed his head to what, for a hen, passed for a shoulder. He was trembling. When he started making soft gasping sounds and she felt tears drip onto her feathers she reached up and stroked the back of his head with her wing.

When Gonzo could speak again he said, "I thought all that was long behind me. But just seeing her, hearing her voice. it brought it all back. I remembered everything so clearly. Like it just happened. And you know what the worst part is?" he whispered. "She said they were going to send me back because I wasn't happy with them. But I never trusted them because I knew they'd just reject me like every other family did. If only I'd _known!"_

Gently she stroked his cheek with her wing feathers. Looking upward, he took several deep breaths, then continued, "Funny... I hardly ever cried back then. Sometimes I felt terrible, like there was no hope things would ever get better, but I didn't cry about it. Why now?"

She told him, _It's safe to cry now._

"Yeah," he said softly. He was safe with her. He didn't have to pretend with her. She was the first person in his life he had trusted completely. He said, "I never told anyone here but you about that part of my life. I don't want anyone to think of me as some poor jerk who's messed up because nobody loved him when he was a kid. That's over with. I don't want anyone to know about that."

She clucked softly, _You're loved now._

He paused and thought about that. Then he said, "Yeah," and hugged her tightly again.

Soon someone tapped on the door. Gonzo, who had pulled himself together, opened it. It was Fozzie. "Hey, you missed your act."

Gonzo said, "Sorry, Camilla and I got a little distracted. Y'know." He grinned a grin he did not feel. "How'd it look?"

"It looked great! Did you plan to get stuck on the balcony?"

"Nah. Just got lucky," Gonzo said.

"Anyway, we're going home now. C'mon."

Gonzo and Camilla left, his arm around her back. He chatted with the others, feigning cheerfulness, but she could feel the tension in his arm and hand.

* * *

The Muppets went back to the boarding house in the Electric Mayhem's bus. The other hens had been watching over Billie. As he picked his daughter up Gonzo thought that, as much as he wished otherwise, he couldn't forget his past. He was content with his current life, and had pushed those sad memories aside for years, but now... if his former foster mother talked about him... the thought frightened him. She wouldn't, he told himself; she had left him alone for so long, why give him trouble now? She wouldn't be that cruel. But, he thought, she had once before, without realizing it. He could only hope that she understood what it would do to him, and leave him alone now.

Gonzo looked down at Billie, who was half asleep in his arms. He promised himself that his daughter would never feel like he had. She would never wonder where her place was in the world. As long as he was alive, she would always know that she was loved.

* * *

All characters except Janken, Billie, and the unnamed Monster lady are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. MC Frontalot is copyright © Damian Hess. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken, Billie, and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	7. Interlude

**Masks, Part 7:  
Interlude  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

The next morning Gonzo was still feeling unhappy and worried about his former foster mother's visit. He didn't want to talk with anyone about it; he feared that if he dredged up more memories of that time he wouldn't be able to force them back again.

It was quiet in the boarding house, as most everyone was sleeping in. Yesterday had been the first day of filming for the TV show, and people had been in a partying mood after the show. He and Camilla had retired early. To forestall any questions he had simply implied that he and Camilla required privacy. However, he had never been less in the mood in his life.

Gonzo sighed as he puttered in the kitchen. He wasn't hungry. Last night's encounter weighed on him, making him feel trapped and unhappy. In the past it could have triggered a spell of depression. However, he was not going to let that happen, he told himself. He was not going to pull away from his friends and let it get to him. Even if he tried, Camilla wouldn't permit it, bless her.

For now, he just wanted to take some time and sort it out for himself. He couldn't do that in his family's room; if he became upset again it would distress Billie. She picked up on emotions very quickly. But the far end of the back yard was safe. He wandered past the Jacuzzi to the less-tended area, his feet making crunching sounds as he stepped on fallen leaves and sticks.

He was surprised to see that someone had beaten him to it. Scooter was sitting on the bench, his chin in his hand and a pensive expression on his face. Gonzo asked, "What's up?"

Scooter looked over. "Hi, Gonzo. Nothing much. Just taking a break."

Gonzo sat down beside him. "Looks like you've got something on your mind too."

Scooter started to deny it, then admitted, "Yeah, I guess so. I guess, with both college and the show at the same time, I'm a little overwhelmed lately."

"I bet," Gonzo said quietly. He patted Scooter on the back and said, "You do a great job, you know."

"Thanks. I really love the show; I'd never leave it. I'm taking a lighter load of classes, but still. I know I can get through it, but sometimes I wonder how."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Gonzo said.

Scooter doubted Gonzo did, but he appreciated the sympathy. He said, "I could just quit college for now. I mean, it's not like I _need_ a degree. But I really don't want to. I lucked into _The Muppet Show_ because my uncle owned the theater, and I bet I could stay here the rest of my life. Heck, I might. But, well, this is something I want to do too."

Gonzo remembered his college days. It had been hard, working full-time and taking classes too, but after years of living as a homeless dropout he had felt it vital to get a decent education. Not just to have a degree, but for his self-respect. Scooter must feel the same way. Gonzo said, "You want to do something on your own."

"Yeah, it's like that." Scooter paused for a few moments before he continued. He had not admitted this to any other Muppet, but, now that he thought about it, perhaps Gonzo was the one to talk to. "Also, well, I wanted to meet some new people. Not that there's anything wrong with you guys, but, shoot, before I went to college I never even had a _date."_

"Oh, yeah, I understand that," Gonzo said. "And now?"

Scooter gave a small smile. "Yeah."

"Find someone you like?"

Scooter looked away. "I'm not sure. I can't tell. I'm new at this."

"It's not that hard," Gonzo said. "You either like dating her or you don't."

"No, I mean... no, never mind." Scooter shook his head.

"C'mon, Scooter."

"Well... how can you tell if you're in love?"

"Whoa, that's the deep end of the pool," Gonzo remarked.

"Never mind. I was just thinking," Scooter said quickly.

"Nah, it's okay," Gonzo said. He glanced upward, thinking. "If you'd asked me years ago I'd've said true love hits you like a lightning bolt, and you just _know_ she's the one for you. But that's just wishful thinking. You can be attracted to just about anyone, and it can sure feel like the real thing at the time. But it takes a lot more than a case of the hots to make it last. I mean... well, you know how I used to be." Gonzo chuckled.

Scooter smiled. "All the chickens, the cow..."

"Miss Piggy... Madeline Kahn..."

_"Big Bird!"_

"C'mon, how was I supposed to know that someone that big and beautiful was a _kid?_ I thought he was a chick, not a chick."

They both laughed. Gonzo said, "Anyway, that 'Wow!' stuff doesn't last. For me and Camilla it started out like that, but we really didn't really know each other. We spent a lot of time trying to impress each other, showing off and pretending we were perfect. Which is kinda silly, I guess, because who wants to fall in love with a mask? But after a while we got over that and, well, just grew together. I guess that's not much of an answer, though."

"It's still a nice story."

"Yeah," Gonzo said. He realized that he felt a little better now. The tension had faded.

Scooter asked, "Did you ever worry about what people thought of you?"

"Sometimes. Most people don't understand that there's a fine line between performance artist and kook."

"No, I mean... well, because of who you dated."

Gonzo shrugged. "I never really thought about it. Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Scooter said, glancing away. "Just a random thought."

"Oh. So... got someone you're thinking of?"

"Well, yeah, I guess..."

_Aha_, Gonzo thought. He knew it. "What's she like?"

"Nice, fun to be with... and we can talk about anything."

"That's a good start."

"Yeah. And... well, it's someone I keep thinking of."

"Anyone we know?" Gonzo asked.

"I don't wanna say."

"C'mon." Gonzo nudged him. Scooter shot him a frown. Gonzo decided to back off. "Okay, never mind. Just have fun. Take your time and figure it out for yourselves."

Scooter relaxed. "Yeah. Oh, you forgot something."

"What?"

Scooter grinned. "'Be yourself'."

Gonzo grinned back. "Yeah, that too."

"I feel a little better now. Thanks, I guess it helps just to talk about it."

"No problem. Any time."

"Say, who was your fan last night?"

Gonzo's smile vanished. "Nobody."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. She was just, just a fan, that's all."

"Was there a problem?" Scooter asked, concerned.

"No. Never mind, it's not important. She won't be back anyway," Gonzo said, getting up. "I've got to get back."

Scooter watched, mystified, as Gonzo hurried back to the house.

* * *

Gonzo knew that he had overreacted. An innocent question shouldn't have upset him like that. He needed to come up with something to tell anyone who asked without making them curious. He didn't like lying to his friends, but he had no intention of explaining his past as a runaway and vagrant. It was nobody's business but his own.

He went back into his and Camilla's room. The bed had been replaced by a futon; Camilla was uncomfortable sleeping that far off the floor, especially with a young chick to care for. This was just as comfortable for Gonzo, and Camilla could scrunch the cover up to make a nest.

Camilla looked up. She had not expected Gonzo to come back so soon. He had gone to clear his head, so he said, and his mood was no better now. Billie was less observant. She scampered over to a box, then pulled out a book and went to Gonzo. She held the book out to him and squeaked expectantly.

Camilla watched as he smiled and accepted the book, then sat down. Billie plopped down on his lap while he put the book on the floor in front of himself. The chick pointed at the word balloon on the cover. Gonzo said in a funny voice, "Hello, everybodeee!" Billie giggled, then opened the book and pointed at the next bubble. She had already figured out that the words on the page had something to do with speech.

Camilla left Gonzo with Billie. That would cheer Gonzo up for now, she knew; he loved playing with his daughter. But, she felt, he needed more than domesticity to break this funk, and _now_. Fortunately, she already had a good idea what would help.

* * *

By the time she came back they had reached the end of the book, but Billie had vetoed the idea of finishing. She flipped through the pages at random, pointing at speech bubbles and sound effects, which Gonzo would then say. She was trying to parrot them back, which was appropriate, as she looked like a little parrot.

By the time Billie closed the book to demonstrate that she had had enough for now, she had managed a few new words and made a good start on some others. Gonzo said, "Wow."

"Wa," Billie replied.

Camilla clucked to Gonzo. He replied, "Yeah, but that's okay. I didn't know if you'd go for that in the first place."

She said, _I just had to think about it. And I decided, why not?_

"Oh! Well... cool!" he said, momentarily at a loss for words.

_We have enough time today before the show. And the other hens will watch Billie. I just asked them. Are you ready?_

"You're really serious," he said wonderingly. When he had first broached the subject, she had been startled and worried. Not wanting to upset her, he had dropped it. He hadn't expected her to bring it up again.

_I'm not as adventurous as you are, but I trust you. I'm willing to try._

"Wow," he said.

"Wa," Billie echoed.

That caught Gonzo off guard, and he laughed. Billie giggled as well. Gonzo said, "Well... be back in a minute!" He picked Billie up and carried her out to the balcony where the other chickens roosted. They were expecting him. Gonzo said, "Hi, girls. Thanks for babysitting."

The hens clucked cheerfully. Billie was the only chick any of them had hatched in years due to the scarcity of roosters, so they welcomed the chance to unleash their pent-up motherly instincts on her. He put her down, and she toddled over to her feathery godmothers, squeaking cheerfully.

Camilla was outside the door to their room, pulling a gym bag with her beak because she could not pick it up. Gonzo slung the bag over his shoulder. At the front door they ran into Scooter, who had a bundle of papers in his hand. Gonzo said, "Sorry about cutting you off earlier. I didn't mean to get crabby."

"That's okay. I guess we've both got stuff on our minds. Where're you going?"

"Camilla and I are just going out for the afternoon. What about you?"

"I've got to give Frontalot a copy of the final script. The copier's still down, so I printed it off."

"Where's he staying? The hotel near the theater?"

"Yeah."

"We're going by there. I can run it over to him," Gonzo offered.

"Really? Thanks." Scooter handed Gonzo the script.

A moment after they left, Scooter wondered what was up with the gym bag. There were no gyms in that area of town.

* * *

Finding himself with an unexpected few hours of free time before the show, Scooter decided to take a walk and clear his head. Oh, there were things that he could be doing for the show, but nothing that really _had_ to be done. What the heck, everything would be just fine if he took a break.

He didn't really need to worry, he told himself as he walked down the sidewalk, his hands in his jacket pockets. He had good friends. He wouldn't call them friends if they were closed-minded or judgmental; he did not gravitate to that sort. But he was in unfamiliar territory, and worried that he might make mistakes and hurt himself or someone else.

Forget it for now, he told himself. Things always worked out. Even disasters could be sorted out. He found a newsstand and glanced through the magazine rack. One slick caught his eye; Miss Piggy and several other actresses were on the cover. He recognized the image as one from an old photo shoot. He picked the magazine up and thumbed through it.

Piggy had a six-page spread, photos with a few paragraphs about her early life. There were even photos of her as a piglet in various pageants. She was really cute back then, all ruffles and blonde curls and big blue eyes.

Scooter bought a copy for Piggy. She'd like this.

* * *

That evening at the theater, the copier was still not working. But Frontalot had his script, and the rest of them had rehearsed and knew their parts as well as they ever would, so they were good to go.

Frontalot was flipping through his script, reading his scenes. He commented to Kermit, "There isn't a lot of resemblance between this and last night's show."

"Yeah, it's like that sometimes. Some say it keeps our creative edge sharp; others say it just leads to chaos."

"What do you say?" Front asked.

"Yes," Kermit replied without hesitation.

The back alley door opened, and Gonzo and Camilla came in. Gonzo was still carrying the gym bag; they had come straight here. He said cheerfully, "Hi, guys! Ready for another show?"

"As ready as I was yesterday," Frontalot answered.

"Good! C'mon, babe," he said to Camilla. The two climbed the stairs.

Last night Gonzo had been quiet and glum; now he was as bright-eyed as ever. Kermit wouldn't have thought that the prospect of another show would cheer anyone up so much, but then this was Gonzo. He specialized in odd behavior. He put that thought aside and continued going over the script with Fronatlot.

* * *

All characters except Billie are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. MC Frontalot is copyright © Damian Hess. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Billie and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	8. Miss Piggy's Bad Day

**Masks, Part 8:  
Miss Piggy's Bad Day  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

The Muppets were about to begin the third and last show with their guest, MC Frontalot. They had gotten most of the glitches ironed out, so things were going smoothly now, more or less. The copier technician had finally arrived and was dismembering the machine. Everyone gave it and its unpredictable puffs of toner a wide berth.

Frontalot was currently talking with Sam the Eagle. "When I first met you, Sam, I thought you were one of those self-righteous, holier-than-thou, bullheaded types."

"Certainly I am not," Sam replied stiffly. "I have the head of an eagle."

"I can see that. I meant... no, never mind."

Sam told him, "And when I first met you. I assumed that you were one of those inarticulate thugs who pollute the airwaves with ill-conceived noise. I must admit that I was proven wrong in this case."

"Really?" Frontalot said, surprised. He would not have expected any of his music to get through to Sam, and he especially would not have anticipated him _admitting_ it.

"Yes. You are quite articulate."

Frontalot thought, he might have guessed. "It seems like you hate everything on the show. Why do you hang around?"

Sam looked him in the eye. "I am an eagle of deep convictions. If this is the one way I can possibly make a difference, to slow the tide of bad taste, then I will bear the yoke."

Wow. What could anyone say to that? "Well... more power to you, then."

"And to you as well," Sam said without a trace of sarcasm. "I will see you on the stage."

* * *

The show started out with Gonzo's bungee cannon stunt. He managed to hook the balcony rail with his nose again, and this time Janken was ready; he had two cameras set to capture it, one on the side got a long shot and one above the balcony that could zoom in. After that was the discussion segment, a relatively static number as far as camerawork was concerned. There was still plenty of chaos onstage as Muppets tried to act out Wagner's _Die Walküre _without any clue as to the actual storyline. But it was funny, and that was what mattered. This time the chickens and penguins chased Bean about the stage, clucking and quacking "Kill the wabbit." By the time the curtains closed half the audience had joined in.

When that number was over Scooter met Miss Piggy as she came offstage on the left. "Miss Piggy, have you see this?"

As she took off her winged helmet she glanced at the magazine in his hand. Seeing herself on the cover, she stopped in the middle of shaking out her hair. Quickly she put the helmet aside, took the magazine, and began flipping through it. Her inital look of delight faded suddenly. She lingered for a moment, staring at one photograph, then quickly closed the magazine. In a sugary tone of voice she said, "Why, no, Scooter, I hadn't seen this. When did it come out?"

"I bought it yesterday."

She looked at the cover. It was this week's edition, which meant that it had been on sale for days. "Well, it is very... interesting. May I keep this?"

"Sure. I got it for you."

"Thank you, Scooter dear. And, um... has anyone else seen it?"

"It got passed around the house all day yesterday."

"Oh, great," she said under her breath.

"I would have shown it to you then, but I didn't see you. Everyone thought your baby pictures were really cute."

"Why, yes, they were. But then, all babies are beautiful, aren't they?" She affected a breathy laugh, then swept away.

Janken glanced back, then asked Scooter in a low voice, "Was that the same magazine you showed me?"

"Yeah," Scooter said, mystified.

* * *

Miss Piggy shut her dressing room door harder than she intended. Then she opened the magazine on her makeup table. There they were, pictures from so many of the pageants her mother had entered her into during her childhood, starting with one in which she had been a tiny piglet. She _had_ been a beautiful baby. But, she knew, that kind of beauty didn't last.

The pictures were presented in chronological order, with dates and blurbs about the pageants. She only remembered bits and pieces of them; they ran together into a blur in her mind, she had been in so many. Then she stopped when she saw a picture of herself wearing only one glove. The other was in her hand; she had just taken it off for a moment.

The picture clearly showed the tips of her fingers. Her mother had tried everything she could, from painting them pink to filing them down, but nothing she had done then—and nothing that Miss Piggy had been able to do since—could hide the ugly, hooflike fingernails. She remembered that day. She couldn't remember why she had removed her glove, although there had been some reason. Her mother had caught her, and afterward….

Miss Piggy took a pair of scissors out of her makeup kit. She carefully cut the picture out of the magazine, then viciously tore it up, crumpled the pieces, and dropped them into the trash can.

* * *

The second act began with Fozzie's monologue. He had a new set of puns based on rap, and again they weren't funny. But they inspired some good comebacks, so it was a technical success.

Meanwhile, they were fitting the set for Miss Piggy's song together behind the curtains. As before, the garden swing posed the biggest problem. They couldn't put it together beforehand and carry it onstage; the frame wasn't tight enough, and it would fall apart. Now Sweetums was holding one side of the frame together while Thog tried to fit the crossbar into it.

Miss Piggy, dressed in a white sundress and carrying a matching parasol, covered her eyes with a white-gloved hand and shook her head, grumbling "I don't _believe_ this."

Fozzie finished his monologue with most of his dignity intact. The lights in front of the curtain went down, and the lights on the stage brightened. When the first sliver of light showed between the parting curtains, the orchestra began to play a lilting tune. Miss Piggy's face lit with a stage smile.

The audience began laughing.

Her smile froze. She glanced around. Sweetums was still holding one side of the swing, his eyes closed in a doomed effort to make himself inconspicuous. She hissed, "Get off the stage!"

"But, Miss Piggy—"

_"I said __**GIT!**__"_

Sweetums fled. Miss Piggy smiled at the center camera, and began singing sweetly as she walked through the ivy-filled garden,

"On a magic night  
When the way you feel  
Is a mystery,  
It will be revealed.  
Could be an angel  
From up above  
With a flower from the garden,  
The garden of love."

She plucked a rose from the bush, closed her eyes, and sniffed it as the frogs echoed her last line. The frog nearest to her whispered "Don't get on the swing," but, absorbed in the moment, she did not hear him. She tossed the rose into the stream, then continued as the frogs sang backup:

"On another day  
It may come again.  
It's a valentine  
From a special friend."

She crossed to the swing, which was set up over the small pond, and took one of the chains in her hand.

"That certain someone  
You've been dreaming of-"

She stepped onto the swing—if she sat she would not be visible enough to the audience—and began swinging. The frame creaked ominously.

"With a flower from the garden,  
The garden of love-"

The last word of the line turned into a yell as the frame of the swing collapsed, dropping her into the water below with a cannonball-like splash.

Scooter flinched when the swing gave way. He stage whispered from the wings, "Miss Piggy, are you okay?"

Miss Piggy, completely soaked, rose from the pond like a clothed, full-figured, angry version of Botticelli's Venus. She belted the next lines out, as if daring anyone to laugh.

"The garden of love!  
There are mysteries that no one knows.  
Someone offers you a single rose."

Scooter, having given up the stage as beyond his ability to manage, watched over Janken's shoulder as Piggy struggled out of the pond, hampered by her wet dress, still singing. Janken, feeling Scooter's hand on his shoulder, murmured "Whoever said 'madder than a wet hen' never saw a wet pig." But he kept the camera on her face.

On the other side, Kermit watched as Miss Piggy continued through her song. The others around him were laughing. Maybe later it would be funny, but right now it wasn't. He hurried up to her dressing room.

Miss Piggy plucked another rose and clasped it to her bosom as she sang,

"There's no limit to the love that grows,  
Or the treasures  
And the secret pleasure  
Of the garden, garden of love."

She made her way to the side of the stage and tossed her head dramatically. Her hair flapped back in her face with a wet splat. She spat it out of her mouth.

"That special angel  
You've been dreaming of  
With a flower from the garden, the garden of love.  
Garden of love."

She tossed the rose into the audience as the music faded.

As soon as the curtains closed she stomped offstage. All the other Muppets were stifling their giggles. Glaring at them, she raised a fist and snarled, "All right, who wants the first knuckle sandwich?"

"Good save, Piggy."

She whipped around to face the volunteer. It was Kermit, and he wasn't laughing. He was coming down the stairs from her dressing room, carrying her robe. Seeing that the moment of danger had passed, he said, "I hope it wasn't cold out there."

She let him put the robe on her. "The stage lights are warm," she grumbled.

"Good," Kermit said. He guided her up the stairs.

* * *

They went into Miss Piggy's dressing room. When the door was closed Miss Piggy snapped, "They were _laughing_ at me!"

"Yeah," Kermit agreed. When she glared at him he said, "They'd have laughed if it happened to any one of them. I'm impressed how you hung on to the end."

"Well, of course, what else would a star do?" she said, willing to be flattered. She went behind a screen to change.

He could see that her mood was softening. "Anyone can take a pratfall. But you took this one in style."

"Of course. Style is _moi_'s middle name."

Kermit saw the magazine Scooter had given her. "I guess it always was. I didn't know that you were in beauty contests when you were little, Piggy. You never mentioned it."

"There's a reason for that," she grumbled.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing," she sang out. "Really, _moi_ cannot take credit for _moi_'s early beauty. After all, aren't all children beautiful?"

"I guess so," he replied. He flipped through the pages. "Still, I'm surprised I've never seen anything about this before." He turned a page, and saw that one photo had been cut out very carefully. He glanced at her makeup mirror. She posted her favorite pictures of herself around the edges. He did not see any old pageant pictures. He almost asked about it, but something warned him that would not be wise if he wanted to keep her calm, and he left well enough alone.

* * *

All characters except Janken are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. MC Frontalot is copyright © Damian Hess. The song _The Garden of Love_ is copyright © WingNut Films. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	9. Once More, With Feeling

**Masks, Part 9:  
Once More, With Feeling**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

After Miss Piggy had calmed down enough to laugh at the mishap that had dumped her into the water during her song, or at least to pretend to laugh, Kermit came back downstairs and looked around for Scooter. The stage manager was not on this side. He was probably backstage left; he spent more time there, now that Janken was working the cameras on that side. The heavy red curtains were closed. In front of them MC Frontalot was being chased around by a baby girl in an exoskeleton apparatus, and behind them Beauregard was clearing the stage of soggy cereal.

Gonzo handed Kermit a solid red necktie. "Here, put this on."

Kermit looked at it skeptically, then at Gonzo. The weirdo was wearing, instead of his usual purple suit or loud jacket, a white shirt with pocket protector, a red necktie, and a pair of glasses. "What's this for?"

"C'mon, just do it. It'll be cool."

"You say that about waterfall skiing."

"And it is!"

Rowlf came up behind Kermit and tapped him on the shoulder. Kermit turned around. Rowlf was wearing a pair of glasses as well. "It's okay. We have a gag planned."

Gonzo added, "Nobody'll get hurt. I didn't plan it."

Kermit shrugged mentally and clipped the tie to his collar. "What the hey."

* * *

After Frontalot's song was finished and he and the baby had taken their bows, Kermit hopped onstage. "Well, that 'wraps' up the show for the night. Let's hear it for our very special guest star, MC Frontalot!" He waved his arms and cheered, and the audience applauded.

Frontalot said, "Thanks, Kermit, and great tie. But you say that to every guest."

"I say what to every guest?"

"That the guest is special. It's nice piece of fiction, but, if everyone's special, then nobody is, if you think about it."

"This time I mean it," Kermit told him. "In fact, you've been a huge influence on all of us. Hasn't he, guys?"

The rest of the Muppets joined them onstage. They were wearing white shirts with pens or pocket protectors, ties, and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Okay, I see what you mean," Frontalot said, startled. _This_ had not been in the script.

Scooter, still wearing his usual green jacket, came out onstage, looked the rest of the cast over, then said to the audience, "Wow, for once _I'm_ the cool one!"

"Anyway, thank you for coming, and we'll see you next week in The Muppet Show!"

The orchestra began playing the closing theme. The Muppets chatted with Frontalot and mugged for the audience as they applauded.

* * *

As soon as the audience area was empty Rizzo called, "C'mon, guys!" and the rats streamed out from behind the curtains to feast on abandoned concessions. Backstage, Kermit unclipped his tie and said to Frontalot, "Thanks for being such a good sport. I guess it is pretty crazy, doing a show that's half off script, but we're so used to it we kind of forget it."

"Actually, it was a lot of fun. I can honestly say I've never had an experience quite like this."

"There's two sentences we don't often hear together," Kermit remarked. "We'll be filming some backstage scenes tomorrow."

"Sure. Do you have a script?"

"Are you kidding?"

Frontalot grinned. "Yeah, I know better by now."

* * *

On the other side, many of the Muppets were watching the show's 'rushes' on Janken's console. Others were helping put props and scenery away, as they would not be needed again immediately. Pops, the stage doorman, called out from his cage, "Gonzo!"

Fozzie, who had seen Gonzo climb up to the catwalk, said, "He's up in the flies."

"Tell him there's a lady here to see him."

"Okay." He waved to the visitor—a mild-looking, tan-furred woman—and said, "Hi, ma'am, I'll go find him."

"Thank you," she replied.

Fozzie crossed the stage and looked up at the catwalk. Gonzo was helping Sweetums fly backdrops back into place. "Gonzo!"

He looked down. "Yeah?"

"You've got a lady visitor."

Gonzo paused, then said worriedly, "Who is she? Did you see her?"

"She didn't say. She's a Monster, I think. Are you expecting someone?"

"Um, never mind."

Gonzo leapt off the catwalk, grabbed one of the ropes, and rappelled down the wall. Then he crossed the stage, becoming tenser with every step. Who could be here to see him? It had only been a few days since one of his former foster mothers had visited him, and though they had only spoken for a few minutes, it had torn him up. And there were five more of them.

He nerved himself for the worst before turning the corner to Pops' cage. When he saw his visitor—a small woman with short tan fur and neatly-brushed brown hair—he stared for a moment in shock.

She said, "So you _do_ remember me?"

"Are you _kidding?"_ he exclaimed.

* * *

Camilla, who had not been helping clean up the theater due to her lack of hands, was waiting in the dressing room when Gonzo came in, leading an unfamiliar female Monster. From his expression, she guessed this was not another of his former foster parents. He shut the door and said, "Camilla, this is Catherine Monster. She helped me get off the streets back when. Catherine, this is Camilla, chicken actress extraordinaire and the love of my life."

Catherine smiled warmly, without a hint of surprise, and held out a hand to Camilla. "I'm pleased to meet you. And please call me Cathy."

Camilla offered a wing, and the two shook hands, more or less. He told Cathy, "I sure am glad to see you. I was kinda worried when they told me a Monster woman was here for me. My last foster mother came around a few days ago, and that didn't go well." Camilla clucked sympathetically, and he put an arm around her.

"I can imagine," Cathy answered. Once Gonzo had come to trust her he had opened up about his past, and she had been sadly unsurprised to find out that he was yet another one who had slipped through the cracks of the foster care system. She had seen all too many of them, people who had either run away as children or, discharged at the age of eighteen without any life skills or family to back them up, ended up on the street.

"She didn't contact you, did she?" he asked.

Very seriously she answered, "We do not release information about our 'clients' without a subpoena."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way."

"That's all right. Gonzo, I came to see you because I was in this city, and, well, I've kept tabs on you. I suppose it's silly, but I guess I'm a bit of a fan."

"Really?" Gonzo said, surprised, then turned to Camilla. "How about that? I finally got one."

A little embarrassed, Cathy said, "I like to think of you as our success story. It makes me happy to see you doing so well. And I must thank you both for fighting for your rights in court. The precedent set when you and Camilla were declared 'legally human' will benefit us all!"

"Oh, that." He scratched the back of his head. "I can't take the credit for that. Without Miss Piggy's lawyers and Sam's translations and everyone's moral support we wouldn't have gotten anywhere. As for being a success story..." He took out his wallet and fished out a photo. "That's our little girl. Her name is Billie. She was hatched last year."

"Oh?" Cathy said, surprised, as she looked at a green, fluffy chick with a parrotlike beak. "She's lovely! I didn't know about her."

"We've been keeping her a secret. Considering all the noise the tabloids made over me marrying Camilla, we didn't want them to find out we had a baby too. They'd pick on her just for existing! I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself."

She handed the photo back. "I'm good at keeping secrets, Gonzo."

He put the photo back, saying, "Yeah, I know. Wouldn't have told you about Billie if I didn't trust you with mine. Um, on the subject... Camilla knows all about me, but nobody else does. You know."

"Yes, I do. Don't worry, I understand."

"Thanks. So, what brings you to town? Another rescue?"

"Actually, no. I'm no longer a case worker; I'm overseeing the outreach efforts. We're having a charity show here in a few weeks. It's not really a fundraiser; the TMI does pretty well on our founder's investments. It's more an effort to raise awareness. Not a lot of people realize that there's a real problem, and that it _can_ be solved, one person at a time."

"Yeah," he said, nodding thoughtfully.

She continued, "And since I was here already, I would have felt foolish if I didn't see one of the Muppets' shows and say hello."

"I'm glad you did," Gonzo said sincerely. "What kind of show will it be?"

"The usual kind of thing. Whatever we can use to get people to come so we can spread the message."

"Can I help?"

She paused a moment, then told him, "Gonzo, I didn't come here to ask for your help. I really did just want to say hello. But I will not say no if you have time to be in the show."

"I mean it," he said earnestly. "I wanna help. You—the TMI—are the reason I'm here instead of sleeping on park benches. Nobody should ever have to live like that. You do good work."

"Then I accept," she said, pleased.

"Cool!"

Someone rapped on the dressing room door. Scooter called, "We're about to leave."

"Coming," Gonzo replied. He told Cathy, "We gotta go. Um, can I have your number?"

She handed him a business card. "That's my cell phone."

He put the card in his wallet. "Thanks. I don't have a cell phone. They break too easily. I'll call you tomorrow. Say, will you be free during the week?"

"I can make some time. Why?"

"Maybe you can come over and visit," he said, opening the door.

"I'd like that."

* * *

They walked down the stairs and out the alley. The other Muppets were boarding a psychedelically-painted bus. Catherine stared at it. Gonzo said, "Yeah, it's for real."

"Wow," she managed.

"You should see it in the sunlight. If you stand too close you'll get dizzy. I'll call you tomorrow."

"All right. Thank you."

Catherine left for the theater parking lot, and Gonzo and Camilla boarded the bus. There weren't two seats together for them, so she sat on his lap. Rowlf, who was sitting next to an empty seat, said, "Here, swap with me."

"Nah, this is comfy," Gonzo said with a grin, and put his arms around the hen. She leaned back against him.

The bus started up. Fozzie, in the seat in front of them, turned around and asked, "Who was that visiting you?"

"An old friend," Gonzo replied.

Camilla suggested, _Maybe some of the others would help her too._

_I was thinking the same thing_, he clucked back.

Rowlf, who could not understand chicken speak and thus misunderstood the subject of the private conversation, said, "Sheesh, you two."

* * *

All characters except Janken and Catherine Monster are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. MC Frontalot is copyright © Damian Hess. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	10. Meet the Muppets

**Masks, Part 10:  
Meet the Muppets**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

It was a bright and sunny weekday afternoon at the Muppets' boarding house. They did not have a show until Friday evening, so most of the inhabitants were taking some time to relax and chill out before the next round.

Scooter walked in the front door, followed by Janken, who he had finally persuaded to take a break from his studies and come visit. They were greeted by a jazzlike tune. In the living room, a number of Muppets were playing various instruments. Rowlf was at the piano, Kermit had a banjo, Fozzie was playing a ukulele, and Gonzo held a trumpet. There was no sheet music to be seen. Kermit noticed Scooter and Janken and stopped playing. "Hi ho."

Scooter jerked a thumb toward Janken and said, "Hi, guys. Thought I'd bring him to meet the family."

"Didn't mean to interrupt," Janken told them.

Rowlf said, "That's all right. We were just jamming. That's a musical term for messing around."

"Sounds like fun," Janken said.

"Do you play something?" Rowlf asked.

"Yes, but I don't have it with me."

There was a knock at the door. Scooter went back and opened it. A moment later he came back and said, "Hey, Gonzo."

"Yeah!" Gonzo had been expecting a visitor. He put the trumpet down and jumped up. When he passed Janken he said, "If you can play, why don't'cha sit in for me?"

Startled, Janken said, "Er, I don't know how to play a trumpet."

"So what? That never stopped me. Try something else if ya want."

Janken looked at the other items beside the chair Gonzo had been sitting in. "Good grief, is that a _bagpipe?"_

"Unfortunately, yes," Kermit answered. "It's okay, you don't have to."

"Thanks. I can play a sweet potato, but I don't have it here."

"Sweet potato?" Fozzie asked, puzzled.

"Ocarina," Rowlf said. "It's a kind of flute."

"I'd like to listen, though, if that's all right."

"Sure," Kermit told him.

Gonzo popped back in, leading a smallish, brown-furred Monster woman. "Hey, guys, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine from way back. This's Cathy Monster."

Kermit put the banjo aside. "Hi, glad to meet you."

He offered her a hand. As they shook Fozzie said, "Gonzo's never told us about anyone he knew before he came here. How do you know each other?"

Cathy glanced at Gonzo. He answered, "We met a long time ago, before I came here. You know."

"Oh," Fozzie said, nodding understanding of whatever Gonzo was talking about.

Cathy glanced at Janken, then looked at him in surprise for a moment. She looked as if she thought she recognized him, but Janken was sure he had not met her before.

Not noticing, Gonzo said to Kermit, "She's with a charity that's putting on a show in town soon. I want to help out."

"Oh?" Kermit said, interested. "Which one?"

"The TMI," Cathy answered. "We help Monsters who are severely economically disadvantaged get back on their feet, primarily with education and job assistance."

Now Janken understood. He said, "My first job was with the TMI right here in town. When I arrived here I didn't have a clue. One of my friends pointed me at the TMI. I worked in the office there for half a year until I got acclimated, and then they helped me get into college."

"Really," she said, pleased.

"Yeah. Without their help, I'd probably be wandering around, bewildered by all you silly creatures," he said with a grin.

She smiled back. Her first guess was right. She told him, "I'm glad it's worked out for you, Mr...?"

"Just Janken."

"Janken." She shook his hand.

Fozzie said to Janken, "I didn't know you're a Monster."

Janken shrugged. "If I'm not, then what am I?"

Cathy told Fozzie, "'Monster' isn't a pedigree. Some people are Monsters by heritage, of course. But anyone whose species isn't identifiable—as a bear, or a dog, or a frog, for example—is often labeled a Monster. The TMI takes a broad view."

Gonzo said to Kermit, "Anyway, about me helping out with her show. It's next weekend, and I've only got two bit parts in next week's set. How about it?"

Scooter interjected, "I could recast those parts easily."

"Sure, go for it," Kermit replied.

"Thanks, Kermit!" To Cathy he said, "C'mon, lemme introduce you to my family."

She nodded to him, then said, "Good to meet you all."

"You too," Rowlf said.

"Yeah," Fozzie added.

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor Gonzo told Cathy, "It's in our contracts that we can't perform outside shows—standard noncompete clause, I guess—except with permission. Charities and such are always OK, though."

Miss Piggy, wearing a smart pantsuit and a happily preoccupied expression, passed them in the hallway without a glance. She went down the stairs and said to Kermit, "I will be back in a little bit, dear. _Moi_ has a little interview with _N'Importe Quoi_ magazine today."

"Really?" Kermit said, interested. "When will it be printed?"

"As soon as possible," she answered. "Ta ta!"

She swept away. When the door closed Rowlf observed, "It's like Grand Central Station in here today."

"Well, where were we?" Kermit replied.

Rowlf thought. "Here, I think."

He began playing a simple melody on the piano. After half a minute Kermit joined in on the banjo, and then Fozzie on his ukulele. It was no tune that anyone could name; they were just following the improvised, jazzlike music that they played, enjoying the trip rather than following a path. The tip of Janken's tail tapped along with the rhythm. After a while he decided, why not, and began scatting along with them. Fozzie and Kermit looked at him in surprise, then grinned and kept on playing.

* * *

Miss Piggy sat down in the _N'Importe Quoi_ interview studio. As a photographer began shooting pictures of them, the writer, a young ovine lady with a wealth of pale, curly hair, began, "Miss Piggy, I cannot remember a time when you were not in the public eye in the world of beauty and fashion."

Miss Piggy smiled winningly. A flashbulb went off. "Well, of course, dear. When you look like _moi_ does, what choice has one?"

"What was it like, beginning at such an early age?"

"Just like it is now, but smaller," Miss Piggy answered with a stage laugh.

"Surely you must have some memories of those early days that you can share with us."

Yes, Miss Piggy had memories. Some were pleasant; being adored by crowds of adults as she wore pretty clothes, her hair and face made up. But for every one of those she could also remember the backstage jealousies between contestants too young to see the show objectively, the days she had not wanted to perform but had to because her mother had entered her months before. The times she had lost because she was, after all, a pig, and some people did not appreciate that standard of beauty.

She smiled sweetly. "Surely there are more interesting things to talk about? Really, I can hardly remember those days. _Moi_ is afraid they're all a blur."

The writer smiled winningly. "You were a beautiful child, Miss Piggy. Our readers will want to know more about those early times."

Miss Piggy's smile was less winning. "Dear, what does that matter? _Moi_ is a self-made woman. If you want to write about pageant children, you can simply talk with their mothers. Lately I have returned to the stage. I find being before a live audience positively exhilarating! And, of course, a teensy bit intimidating because one cannot simply do a re-take if one makes a mistake—so _moi_ is careful not to make any!"

The interviewer listened and took notes while Miss piggy chattered about her recent projects and those she was considering for the future. Miss Piggy was happy to talk about those at some length, and of course to drop hints about Kermit the Frog's involvement as well. When she slowed down the interviewer said, "I must admit, I'm amazed by all you've done. How do you keep up with it all?"

"_Moi_ has people," Miss Piggy said. "I couldn't do a _thing_ without them."

"And it appears you've been busy all of your life. Miss Piggy, people of all ages look up to you as a woman who has defined her own standard of beauty—"

Miss Piggy brushed her hair back with one gloved hand and purred, "How kind of you to say so."

"What would you say to those who want to follow in your footsteps? To the hundreds of young people and their parents who participate in pageants every year—"

"Forget it," Miss Piggy snapped.

"What?"

"It's back to those pictures again, isn't it? For those who haven't noticed, dear, I am a grown woman, not some simpering waif in a frilly dress. And now I think you have enough for your article, so I'll be leaving now. Good-_bye_."

Without any parting pleasantries Miss Piggy walked out, shutting the door a bit more firmly behind herself than wound be considered ladylike. The writer stared after her, surprised, then turned a page in her notebook and began writing quickly.

* * *

By the time Miss Piggy, still in a foul mood, returned to the boarding house, those who had parts in the upcoming weekend's shows were getting ready to go to the theater. Without saying a word to anyone she went to her room, changed, and plunked herself into a seat beside Kermit on the bus.

* * *

When they got to the theater, Scooter and Janken went to stage left. While Janken checked all the cameras, Scooter made notes about which acts would need which props and scenery. Then, while the others were deciding which skit to rehearse first, Scooter said in a low voice, "You know, I never thought about it before, but Gonzo never has mentioned anything about his life before he joined us. Now I kinda wonder."

Janken asked, "Does it matter?"

Scooter shook his head. "I guess not. It surprised the heck out of us when he turned out to be an alien, but now... well, he's still Gonzo."

Janken paused, tweaking a camera control. Scooter, standing with his back to the stage so nobody else would see the gesture, put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Janken, I never wondered about where you come from. But after what you said today..."

"You got curious?"

"Yeah. I hope that's all right."

Janken turned sideways in his chair to face Scooter. "Sure. I'll tell you all about it, but this isn't the time or place. It's kind of a lot to tell. Would you come stay with me tonight?"

Uneasily Scooter said, "Um, I don't know..."

Janken held up a hand. "I didn't mean it that way, Scooter. I just mean, so we can talk alone, without interruptions and stuff. That's all."

"I don't know. Let me think about it, okay?"

Janken laid his hand gently on Scooter's. "Sure. But, Scoot—I like you way too much to try to hurry you into anything. I'm not in any rush," he said softly.

After a quiet pause, Scooter said, "I believe you. I'll come."

"Cool." Janken patted his hand.

* * *

All characters except Janken and Cathy Monster are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken, Cathy Monster, and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	11. Inner Space

**Masks, Part 11:  
Inner Space**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

"You got to have a dream,  
If you don't have a dream  
How you gonna have a dream come true?"

- _Happy Talk _from_ South Pacific_

_

* * *

_

Somewhere in the world it was a dark and stormy night. But not here; it was a warm, calm evening, in contrast to the chaotic day of rehearsal at the Muppet Theater. It was the first day of rehearsals, and they had found and worked out the worst of the bugs, and kept the ones that looked entertaining and wouldn't cause too much damage.

A door creaked open on a basement apartment. Janken and Scooter entered, and Janken flipped on the light. It was a one-room affair, with support pillars bisecting the room and exposed water pipes along one wall. There was a sofa, a small refrigerator, a hot plate, and a sink, and not much else in the way of amenities. Several boxes along the wall contained clothing and a few other possessions.

Janken remarked, "Kind of cavelike, I suppose."

"Spartan, maybe," Scooter replied.

Janken nodded. "I hadn't thought of it like that, but yeah. Actually, I like it. Anyway, I don't spend a lot of time here because it's so quiet. I'd rather be around people. But it's great when I have to study."

Janken was chattering nervously, as if he had to apologize for this place to Scooter. "It's fine, really. If I had to, I'd rather stay in a place like this than a dorm."

"Yeah. Tea?"

"Sure."

Janken said as he filled a pot and set it on the hot plate, "I've never had visitors, so I don't have any coffee. I can't drink that stuff. I don't like the taste and it makes me jittery."

"Have you already had some? You seem kind of jittery now."

Janken looked sheepish. "Sorry, I guess I am. Wasn't I the one telling you not to worry?"

Somehow, seeing Janken flustered made scooter feel a little better. "Yeah. It's OK."

"Yeah." Janken looked at Scooter for a few moments, then turned away and went to a box. He pulled out some short, clear rods that looked like glue sticks and said, "Have you had these before?"

Scooter took one and looked at it. "What is it?"

"It's snack food from where I come from." He bit into it.

Scooter tried his. It had a strange, peppery flavor, startling at first but not unpleasant, and a crunchy texture. "Huh! I know I've never had these, but I think I've tasted something like this before."

"You probably have." Janken tapped some powder out of a packet of folded paper into a pair of earthenware cups, then poured hot water in. After stirring them, Janken offered one to Scooter.

It was sweet and pleasant, again with a flavor Scooter could not name. "This came from your home too?" he guessed.

"Yeah. It relaxes me whenever I feel nervous. Kind of like anti-caffiene. This and these sticks are my comfort food," Janken told him. "I've got quite a tea collection. One of my fathers makes them, and he always gives me a bunch whenever I come and visit, especially medicinal ones. He worries I'm going to get sick and die out here. Heh."

_"One_ of your fathers?"

Janken paused, then said, "Technically he'd be my uncle. By our standards, anyway. Out here I don't know what I'd call him."

"That sounds complicated," Scooter said. 'Father' and 'uncle' were pretty clear concepts; how could you confuse one for the other?

Janken said, "Actually, it's simple. It'd be easier to show you than to tell you."

"How'd you do that?" Scooter asked. Janken had relaxed, he noticed.

"We'd have to be asleep together." At Scooter's startled expression he quickly added, "As in, to sleep, perchance to dream. Not as in an euphemism for anything else."

Looking into his teacup, which sat warm and heavy in his hands, Scooter said, "Janken, I trust you... but it'd be a lot easier if you'd just tell me what you have in mind instead of what you don't!"

"I know, I know," Janken said. "But if I do, well, it'll sound flaky. Look, all you have to do is go to sleep with your head touching mine. I'll do the rest. If it works you'll know, and if it doesn't, you'll just sleep, and I promise I'll tell you anything you want to know in the morning."

"This still sounds strange."

"Stranger than what you see in the theater every week?"

"Or at the house," Scooter responded with a wry smile. "You got me there. Okay, I'll give it a try."

"Thanks," Janken said. He drank the rest of his tea, put the cup down, then told him, "Like I told you before, Scoot, I won't ever try to push you into something you don't want to do. Or, well, that I'm not ready for either."

Scooter nodded, not knowing what to say.

Janken continued, "You know what first attracted me to you?"

"Don't say my eyes."

Janken chuckled. "No, your smile. You've got a grin like everything's going great. I like the way you look anyway, but when you smile like that, _wow_. I hope I'll always be able to see that smile."

Scooter felt his face warm, and knew he was blushing. "Thanks."

Janken wanted to take Scooter's hands, but they were still occupied by the teacup. So he said, "Maybe I should just shut up now so we can try this."

Scooter nodded and drank the rest of the tea now that it was merely warm. It tasted better that way. "That's good."

"I have plenty." He rinsed the cups out and set them upside down to dry, then turned off the hot plate. "We can sleep head to head on the couch. It's big enough, and comfortable. I usually sleep there anyway."

The couch was built to human scale, so it could easily accommodate them. They got onto it, and Janken reached out and flipped the light switch with his tail. Then he said softly, "Dream a dream and see what a dream can be."

Scooter wanted to say _This is weird_, but he didn't. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

* * *

Scooter found himself inside a cave. The air was fresh and cool, and though there were no lights, he could see quite easily. Janken met him. "There you are. I've been waiting."

"Where are we?" Scooter asked.

"In my dream, remember? It must have taken you a little while to fall asleep. I'm out as soon as I turn off the light." Janken beckoned. "Follow me, I know the way."

Scooter thought, _Of course he would. It's his dream. And I can't believe I just thought that._

Janken said, "I wasn't sure this was going to work. But I had a feeling it just might, with you."

"I might just be dreaming this, though," Scooter replied.

Janken turned to him. "You aren't, but it's okay if you don't believe me yet. Just come with me for now. You'll see." He beckoned. "C'mon, this way!" Janken turned and ran down the tunnel.

Scooter ran after him. Janken's tail, a barometer for his mood, waved like a flag as he raced through the caves, past rushing streams and through large, open galleries. He jumped up to a shelf, then skimmed up a ramp of gours like stacked coins. Scooter was surprised that he had no problem following him—but, he reminded himself, this _was_ a dream.

After a while Janken stopped, barely breathing hard, his tail quivering with excitement. "Do you hear that?"

Scooter listened. "Other people."

"My home." Janken nodded toward the end of the tunnel.

They went to the end of the tunnel and looked in on a large gallery. The walls were decorated with flowers and small paintings. A horn like a giant stone bugle was mounted on one side. In the center was a clear pool of water. Smaller rooms and other passages branched off on every side, and a chimney let a spotlight of sun shine into the pool. The rock floor was uneven, but worn smooth by the passage of countless feet. Scooter could still hear the voices close by, though they were alone, and even the splashing of the water though it was still.

Scooter asked, "Aren't there others like you?"

"Lots of them. We call ourselves Fraggles," Janken answered. "This is the tough part... I can show them to you, but you can't meet them. This is a dream, so it wouldn't be for real."

"Go ahead. Just hearing them without seeing them is spooky."

"Okay. Give me a moment." Janken gazed at the pool. Several creatures appeared in it, splashing as energetically as if they had been there all along. Another few appeared by the side. Scooter watched as Janken glanced around the room, populating it a few at a time.

They walked in. The Fraggle images talked and swam and played and goofed around, but did not react to Scooter and Janken. They were all similar to Janken, though they were different sizes and colors. Some wore clothing, and when Scooter looked closer he could see individual differences in their faces. He said, "Wow. This is like watching a movie from inside."

"It is, isn't it? I'll have to remember that." Janken leaned against a rock wall. "I never thought of showing you this place before, but after seeing where you live, I thought you might understand."

Scooter did not answer immediately. He realized that the eerie sensation of being in another's dream had faded. In its place he felt warmth and joy as if it was in the air. He looked at Janken, and saw its mirror in his expression. Scooter said softly, "It's kind of like the boarding house, isn't it? Crazy and noisy and full of the people you love."

Janken nodded, smiling widely. "You _do_ understand."

They watched the scene for a little longer. Then Janken pointed at the group at and in the pool. "Those seven at the pool, those are my family."

They walked closer. Two adults, a yellow and a green one, were swimming, with two children, one brown and the other green. The ones outside the pool were pink, green, and orange. Scooter noticed that the tallest one looked like Janken. He was not sure of the gender at first, but then she spoke in a light soprano. "Is she your mother?"

"That's right. As for my father, heh, that's kind of a funny story. When I was born I looked like my mother, and they couldn't tell which one was my father for years. That's why I call them all my fathers. When we finally figured out who my sire was, I didn't feel like demoting the other two to 'uncle'."

"Which one is your father?"

"Go on, guess."

Scooter looked at the three who spoke with male voices. "I can't tell."

Janken tapped his nose. Scooter looked at the others for a moment before the green one in the pool turned his head, and Scooter saw his profile. "Him?"

"Yep. When I was little, I looked like a generic Fraggle kid. When I grew and got this nose, well, mystery solved. In fact, that's how I was named. In our ancient language, 'Janken' means 'stone, water, wind.' It's a game. Like rock, paper, scissors for cave dwellers. Stone diverts wind, wind evaporates water, water wears down rock. It's something you do when you just can't decide, get it?"

"Yeah," Scooter said. "Um, how does it work? Your family?"

Janken replied soberly, "That's hard to explain. Not because it's complicated, but because it's so simple. We're a small... tribe, or village, or whatever, by your standards. We don't have much in the way of rules about families. Some people pair off, some stay alone, some gather in larger groups. The custom we follow is basically 'whatever works.' In my family's case, they had grown together for so long they weren't just friends, they were more like family. So when it came time to play 'pass it on' with their genes, they kept the status quo. After all, if it's not broken, why fix it?" He smiled. "I had a very eventful, happy childhood, surrounded by people who loved me, and I inherited something from each of them, genes or no."

They stood and watched the images of Janken's family. The ones in the pool were teaching the youngsters—Scooter guessed that they were about nine and four years old—some swimming strokes. The older one was copying the yellow one, and the younger one was dog-paddling valiantly, watched over by the green one.

After a while Janken sighed. "Seeing this cave, even only in a dream, makes me homesick. I visit a few times a year, and I write home all the time. The next time I come home will be in winter, for the solstice." He looked at Scooter. "I'd invite you to come along, but it gets really cold. Even with our fur we have a hard time of it. You'd freeze."

"Do you think they'd mind?"

The images of the other Fraggles blurred, like a film going out of focus, and the sounds faded. Janken started walking toward the exit. "We don't get a lot of surface dwellers down here, but it's happened before. It'd be okay."

"No, I mean, because we're..."

Janken looked at him. "What? Oh, nah, they know about me, and it's not such a big deal anyway. They'd be surprised that I've taken up with a surface dweller, but they'd get to like you. I know they would, because I wouldn't fall in love with a creep."

Wryly Scooter replied, "Gee, thanks, I think."

"Oh, you know what I mean. There's a lot more I could show you, but this is enough for one day."

Together they walked back to the place where they started, and the dream ended.

* * *

Scooter's eyes opened. He felt Janken move. "Janken?" he whispered.

"Yes?" was the soft reply.

"Did you just have a dream...?"

"Rock, paper, scissors..."

"Stone, water, wind?"

"Yes."

"How did you do that?"

"It's something my kind can all do. But it's never been done with anyone not of our kind. I wasn't sure it was possible."

"Wow," Scooter murmured.

"Yeah."

Scooter felt Janken move. The Fraggle kissed him lightly on the forehead, then lay back down, his head no longer touching Scooter's "Good night."

"Good night."

They closed their eyes, and within minutes were asleep again, separately and together.

* * *

All characters except Janken are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. _Fraggle Rock_ is copyright © The Jim Henson Company. _Happy Talk _ is by Rodgers and Hammerstein. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	12. The Observatory

**Masks, Part 12:  
The Observatory  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

Kermit the Frog entered the Muppet Theater. Pops, the doorman, glanced up from his newspaper, then absently waved him through.

It was a Monday afternoon, and the Muppets were rehearsing, setting up props and costumes, and otherwise preparing for their next weekend's show. Kermit heard a spirited drumming; the Electric Mayhem was onstage. On Kermit's desk there was a list of the acts that were to be rehearsed and who was in each one, and some other notes in Scooter's handwriting. Out of habit Kermit glanced across to backstage right. Scooter could often be found at the camera console with Janken, but neither was there at the moment.

Kermit stood in the wings and listened to the Electric Mayhem. Animal was drumming for all he was worth, and the rest of the band was following along. The music was fast; he guessed that it was around 300 BPM. The effect was…interesting, Kermit thought, and when fully amped up would be fearsome for the front rows.

"Hey, Kermit!"

Kermit turned around, then startled when he saw Fozzie Bear wearing a colorful, floppy, feather-decked hat and ridiculously oversized glasses. "What'cha think?"

"I think it's a good start if you want to be a circus clown."

Fozzie took off the glasses. "Oh well," he said, only a little dismayed.

Fozzie had been going through old costumes for inspiration, Kermit could see. "Keep trying."

"I don't know, I'm getting nothing. Maybe I'm trying too hard." He looked at Kermit as if seeking approval.

Kermit nodded. "Yeah. Don't force it. My best ideas have come when I wasn't looking for them."

"Really?" Fozzie asked hopefully.

"Well… sometimes." Seeing Fozzie's disappointment, he continued, "You don't have a monologue this week, so don't worry about it."

"Yeah…" The bear took off the silly hat—his fedora was underneath—and put it and the glasses back in a trunk marked "Corny Accessories."

"Got something on your mind?"

"No, not really. I just felt like coming in and, you know, seeing what I could find."

"Everyone gets writer's block every so often."

"Yeah, I guess that's it," Fozzie said sheepishly. Then he perked up again. "Oh well, something'll come to me. Say, when do you rehearse?"

Kermit glanced at the schedule again. "Not 'til later this afternoon. Why?"

"Why don't we go get some coffee?"

"Sure."

* * *

The two went down into the canteen. The grill was closed, but coffee, cold drinks, sandwiches, and the like were always available. They got their coffees. Fozzie was going to claim a table, but Kermit beckoned toward the door and said, "Come with me."

"Okay."

Fozzie followed Kermit up into the balcony facing the stage. The Electric Mayhem was still playing, but at this distance and without amplification it was surprisingly non-loud. They sat in the comfortable seats in the back row. Kermit put his feet up on the chair in front of himself and sipped his coffee. Fozzie leaned back and looked at the ceiling. They did not speak for a while, comfortable just to be quiet.

When Fozzie spoke he said, "Y'know, Kermit, I really love the show, but I kinda missed this."

"Me too." Before they revived The Muppet Show, Kermit and Fozzie used to hang out together every Friday. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing, or even what they talked about, they enjoyed simply spending time together. When things had gotten busy the old habit had fallen by the wayside. Kermit hadn't thought about it lately—he had had so many other things on his mind now—but now he realized that he really had missed hanging around with the bear. "Sorry, things have been so crazy lately."

Fozzie patted his arm. "It's all right."

Kermit nodded and took another sip of his coffee. Then he asked, "So, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Well, there's Velcro. How does it work?"

Kermit looked at Fozzie. The bear grinned at him. "I don't know. But it somehow does," Kermit said. "Doesn't it get caught in your fur?"

"A little. That's why I told Wardrobe not to use it in my costumes. I said, 'Leave _Vel_-cro enough alone!'"

Kermit shook his head and said, "Sheesh." Fozzie laughed to himself. It was a bad joke, but it was a good bad joke.

They lapsed into silence again. After a while Kermit said, "There's nothing I'd rather be doing now than this show. I guess that's why I let it take up all my time and drive me up the wall sometimes. Sounds kinda crazy, doesn't it?"

"Nah. We all feel that way."

"Not quite as much." Kermit swirled his coffee. "I don't mean that people aren't taking it seriously, giving it their all, but they're making time for themselves too. Like Gonzo and Camilla. You know, for a while I thought they might leave the show."

Surprised, Fozzie said, "Really?"

"Yes. If they had, well, I'd wish 'em well, and I'd miss them after they left. But they didn't. Gonzo's as gung-ho as ever, but it's not the only thing in his life anymore."

"Yeah. He and Camilla are so happy now. They really belong together. And he really loves being a father."

"Who'd have thought that they'd be the first to settle down and start a family?" He paused, then said, "In a way, I kind of envy them."

"Yeah. Fresh eggs every day…"

Kermit nudged Fozzie with his elbow. "I'm serious. I mean, sometimes, well, I wonder what that would be like."

"With Miss Piggy?" Fozzie asked.

"Er, in general."

"Oh."

Neither spoke for a little while. Then Kermit said, "I really do like Miss Piggy. Underneath that diva act she puts on, she really can be a nice person."

"Um," Fozzie said. He did not actually disagree with Kermit, but lately Miss Piggy had been on edge, making it a little less easy than usual to like her.

"I think that most of the time she's putting on an act to prove that she's a big star and make her place in the world. And it's a good act—so good that she's got herself fooled too. But sometimes she does relax, and that's the Miss Piggy I like. The Piggy who can laugh and tell terrible jokes during a Veterinarian's Hospital sketch. I wish I saw that Piggy more often."

Quietly Fozzie said, "I never thought about her like that, but… yeah. You're right. Why do you think she's always pretending? It seems like so much work."

Kermit had his suspicions; the article about her pageant-child past had made him think. But it didn't seem right to take her apart behind her back, and in any case he was not sure, so it wasn't a lie when he said "I don't know. But sometimes I feel sorry for her. I can't imagine keeping up a façade like that all my life."

"Me neither," Fozzie said, shaking his head.

"I guess that, if she does ever open up to anyone, it'll have to be on her own terms. Until then… I'll just accept her as she is. She may not be the most beautiful star, or the best singer, but she'd the best darn Miss Piggy out there."

"Yeah," Fozzie agreed wholeheartedly.

"If she ever heard me talk about her like this… I don't know what she'd do, and I don't want to find out," Kermit said, and forced a little laugh. "Lately I've been wondering about Scooter too."

"What about Scooter?"

"I didn't expect him to go to college. Don't get me wrong, I think it's a good idea, him doing something on his own, even if after working for us for so long he sure doesn't need it on his resume. But he's taking on a whole lot now, both the theater and school, and I don't think most people realize how much he does for the show. I wonder if he's spreading himself too thin."

"I never thought about that," Fozzie mused. "He always looks happy to me."

"That's just how he is. But it seems like he's been quiet lately." He sipped his coffee. "I don't know, it's probably nothing. But I'd hate it if he burned out. Who else could stage manage this mob?"

Fozzie said, "I think he's like the rest of us. He's here because this is what he wants to do. Even when it's tough, when the acts are messed up or the sets fall over or the audience is booing, this is what we all love."

Kermit raised his coffee cup. Fozzie tapped his against Kermit's, and they both took a drink. Kermit said, "Even with theater remodeling costs and tabloid hassles and all of us living in a crowded nuthouse, I wouldn't trade this life for any other."

"Yeah," Fozzie said with a sincere grin.

The Electric Mayhem had stopped playing sometime during the conversation; now another set of characters were onstage, working out the blocking for a comedy skit. Fozzie and Kermit watched without speaking, their minds elsewhere.

After a while Kermit said, "Thanks, Fozzie. I didn't realize it, but I missed hanging out together. We'll have to get back in the practice."

"Sure," Fozzie said, pleased. "But not Fridays."

"Yeah. Too busy. Well, we'll make time during the week."

"Yeah."

Neither of them felt the urge to be anywhere else than exactly where they were. They sat back, content to watch the others scurry around on the stage.

* * *

All characters are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC and are used without permission but with much respect and affection. The overall story is copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	13. Outreach

**Masks, Part 13:  
Outreach  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

It was a warm and sunny afternoon. The Great Gonzo tapped on a backstage door of a community theater house. After a pause it opened, and a young male Monster looked out and, "Oh, Gonzo! Cathy's just inside," and beckoned him in.

The monster guided him through the corridors in the back of the theater to a small office. Inside, Cathy was looking over some forms. She glanced up, then said, "Thanks for coming, Gonzo. We all really appreciate your helping with the show."

He sat in a chair opposite hers. "No problem. What can I do?"

She said, "Unfortunately, I just found out that this theater's insurance policy is a little restrictive..."

She sounded embarrassed. He said, "Don't worry, that happens all the time. Usually right after the insurance company realizes who I am. Okay, cannons and motorcycles are out. No big deal." He shrugged. "It's too hard to lug a cannon across town on a bus anyhow."

"You'd take a cannon on a _bus?"_

"No. Too heavy, and it won't fit in the luggage space. So, what can I do for ya?"

"I'd like you to emcee the show."

That caught him by surprise. He said, "I didn't expect _that_, but sure."

"Good," she said, pleased. I've got some notes for you, but you can put everything in your own words. And, of course, have fun with it if you want to. Be yourself."

"Nobody else will, so I guess I have to," he replied with a grin. "So, who will I be announcing?"

"Some of them are here already. Why don't I introduce you?"

"Sure."

She led him out of the office. In one of the wings was an attractive Monster woman carrying a bulky clothing bag and makeup tacklebox. Looking over, she said, "Cathy, is there somewhere I can set up?"

Her voice sounded familiar to Gonzo, but he could not place her face. Cathy said, "I'll show you to the ladies' dressing room. Penny, this is Gonzo. He'll be emceeing the show."

They shook hands. Penny said, "Between the two of us, we'll make this show a memorable one."

She laughed, and Gonzo stared. Her voice was familiar, but the laugh was unmistakable. "Penny _Dreadful?"_

"That's me," she said. "It's not too easy to recognize me without my costume and makeup, is it?"

"I'll say!" he answered, still amazed. She was the host of a long-running TV show featuring terrible horror movies. Onscreen, she was one of the most recognizable Monsters in show business. He couldn't believe how different she looked when not in costume. He could pass her on the street without a second glance.

"Not all of us are born with our distinctive looks," she quipped, glancing at Gonzo's nose. To Cathy she said, "Give me a few minutes to get settled in and I'll talk with you both. I've got some ideas."

The dressing room door closed. Cathy couldn't help laughing at Gonzo's expression. "She was just as surprised when I told her you'd be doing the show. I think she'll ask for your autograph."

"Whoa."

* * *

Hours later, a young redheaded woman wearing cat-eye glasses walked in the door to the Muppet Theater. She waved at Pops the Doorman as she walked by without breaking her stride. He nodded and went back to his newspaper. She looked like she knew where she was going, and that was good enough for him.

She glanced around and saw Scooter on the other side of the stage, where the camera bank was. She walked around behind the stage, treading carefully to avoid tripping over or being fallen upon by props, then snuck up behind him on soft-soled sneakers. She had approached from his right, so she tapped his left shoulder. He glanced over and saw nobody. When she said "Boo!" from the other direction he startled. So did Janken.

"Skeeter! What're you doing here?"

"Scaring the mess out of you, little brother," she said, laughing.

He was older than his twin by a matter of minutes, but he would not rise to the bait. "Mission accomplished. What's up?"

She draped an arm around his shoulders. "Nothing. I just wanted to pester you. Ordinarily I wouldn't come here to do it, but I haven't seen you anywhere, even at college. This is the only place I can find you."

"I've been busy with the show."

"Busier than you were last year? You weren't so elusive then. We used to double date all the time. What're you doing now, hanging around with your nerd friends?" To Janken she said, "No offense."

"None taken," Janken replied mildly.

Scooter said, "You're not going to try to set me up, are you?"

"Nah. This is real life, not some sitcom. I was just wondering what you're up to, since I hardly see you anymore, that's all."

Scooter sighed. His eyes met Janken's. Scooter glanced around; they were the only ones on backstage left, and those rehearsing onstage certainly wouldn't be paying attention to them. He said, "Look, sis..."

"What?"

Another long pause. Then Scooter said, "Between the show and college I've been too busy, that's all. I haven't had time for anything else."

She did not see Janken's tail flick. Scooter did. Shaking her brother by the shoulder, she said, "You told me yourself, this job is as much work as you make it. Come up for air once in a while."

"Okay, okay, I'll try. As long as you don't try to set me up with someone."

"You've given up on dating already? That's just sad," she teased.

Firmly he answered, "I'm just not interested, that's all."

Surprised by his tone, she looked him in the eyes. Then she said, "All right, suit yourself. Say, is Piggy here? I just read the most _interesting_ article."

Grateful for the change in topic, Scooter said, "Yeah, but you'd better not mention that to her. I mean it. It's not funny."

"Are you kidding? It's hilarious! 'I'm not a waif in a frilly dress!'" She laughed.

"Skeeter," he said warningly. "I mean it. It's a dangerous topic with her. And with Miss Piggy, dangerous is _dangerous__.__"_

"Okay, okay, I'll try," she said, mimicking him. "I didn't come here to bother her, anyway. Just you."

* * *

Kermit, in his dressing room, was reading a copy of _N'Importe Quoi_. It was the one with Miss Piggy's interview. She had not mentioned or even alluded to it today, which was ominous.

He knew Miss Piggy. He would not be worried if she threw a fit about an unflattering article, or even one that was not flattering enough. That would be typical, and would blow over quickly enough. This silence, on the other hand, was scary, like the quiet ticking of a time bomb.

Kermit had no secrets in his life. He came from humble beginnings—you can't get much humbler than a scum-filled swamp swarming with thousands of siblings—and, through a combination of luck, persistence, and hard work, had become more of a star than any talking frog could expect. On the surface, it seemed that Miss Piggy had followed a similar path. Hers had just begun in a sty rather than a swamp.

He closed the magazine and put it away. Then he went over to Miss Piggy's dressing room and rapped on the door. "Piggy?"

_"Entrez,"_ she answered from within.

He went in. She was sitting at her makeup desk, wearing a robe, her hair pulled back. "Why, Kermie! I wasn't expecting you."

"Hi, Piggy. I was just wondering how you were doing."

She tilted her head, affecting puzzlement. "What on odd thing to say. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

He sat down on a trunk. "Piggy, you haven't said anything about the article in _N'Importe Quoi._ Usually you make sure everyone knows whenever someone does a feature on you."

"Oh, that." She laughed. "Really, there's not much to it, is there? Who was it that said 'it is a sin to waste the reader's time'? _Moi_ wouldn't want anyone to waste their time reading that silly little space filler."

She did not fool Kermit for a moment. However, he knew that calling her on it would only lead to a fight. "It's just that it's not like you to walk out on an interview."

"Oh, that. Really, Kermie, it's so sweet of you to be concerned, but the truth of the matter is that I left because they insisted on dwelling on_ moi's_ boring old pageant pictures. As if I had done nothing of note since then. I became bored, so I walked out. _Moi_ has no secrets; everyone knows that I have been a beauty queen for all of my life."

Kermit was not fooled. He was good at reading between the lines where Piggy was concerned. He also knew when not to push. "Okay. Glad to see it wasn't bothering you."

"You're so sweet," she said, smiling winningly. "Now, I really must finish doing my hair."

"All right. See you, Piggy."

"Ta ta!"

He left. Her smile vanished the moment the door clicked shut. She scowled, but not because of Kermit, or even the article in _N'Importe Quoi._

It was conventional wisdom that you should not read your own reviews. Miss Piggy dismissed that as ridiculous; she loved to read about herself. How else was she to keep up with her image? But that, unfortunately, also meant that she saw the unflattering articles, such as the ones printed in _The Daily Scandal._ The latest copy was in her trash can. A certain muckraker had hastily scrawled speculations on her past based on her unwillingness to discuss it for _N'Importe Quoi_ and illustrated it with photos from the earlier magazine article. If she found the twerp, she would show him the one advantage of hooflike fingernails: they give an added edge to karate chops.

* * *

The rest of the day went by smoothly, on the surface at least. The Muppets rehearsed their acts, and Janken made notes on his copy of the script about camera angles and effects. Skeeter hung out backstage, chatting with old friends, and kept her word not to mention the article to Miss Piggy. However, Piggy did notice Skeeter sneaking peeks at her gloves.

As things were winding down for the evening Gonzo came in. He sought Kermit out and said, "Hi, how're rehearsals going?"

"Good. How about yours?"

"Pretty good. Hey, they made me the emcee."

Kermit's startled expression made Gonzo laugh. "Yeah, that was what I thought too."

"Is it because of their insurance?"

"Yep. Well, I doubt they'd want me to do a stunt even if they could get it okayed. It's not that kind of show. Anyway, it's gonna be Saturday afternoon. It's not long, it'll be over hours before we have to set up for the show. I snagged some tickets. Want to come?"

"Sure."

Gonzo handed him a pair of tickets. "Ask Miss Piggy if she'd like to come." Behind his hand he said, "I bet the other performers'll ask for her autograph."

Kermit smiled, knowing that that would help her mood. "I don't think she'd mind too much."

"Yeah." Gonzo glanced around. "Hey, is that _Skeeter?"_

"Yeah. She dropped by a few hours ago."

"Cool! See you back at the house."

Gonzo crossed the stage to the left wings. Scooter and Skeeter were chatting as Janken shut the camera console down. Scooter saw Gonzo coming and said, "Hi! I didn't expect to see you here today."

"Why not?" Skeeter asked.

Gonzo said, "Hi, Skeeter. I'm not in this week's show 'cause I'm doing a charity benefit instead."

She asked, "Just you? Not the other Muppets?"

"Just me. It's for TMI—a Monster charity—and one of the people running it is an old friend of mine. It looks like it's gonna be pretty neat. They've got some good guests. Hey, one of 'em's Penny Dreadful! I met her today!"

"Are you _serious?"_ Skeeter exclaimed.

Janken asked, "Who's Penny Dreadful?"

Scooter answered, "She hosts Penny's Dreadful Theater. It plays some of the worst horror movies ever made, and she heckles them."

Skeeter said, "Movies like_ The Minimall of Terror _and_ Attack of the Killer Radishes_…"

Gonzo said, "You'd never recognize her out of costume! Anyway, she's going to be there, and _Ten Inch Talons_, and so on. I have some tickets. You all want to see it?"

"Sure, why not?" Scooter replied.

"Heck, yeah!" Skeeter said.

Gonzo gave them tickets, then offered one to Janken. "How about you?"

"Thanks, but I've already got one. A friend in the TMI office in town invited me."

"Oh? Cool. See you there, then. D'you know if Fozzie's still here?"

"He ought to be. He and Kermit were rehearsing a little while ago."

"Good See you later." Gonzo went back across the stage.

Skeeter said, "I've got to go too. I've got Anthro 302 in an hour. Don't want to be late for that."

Scooter did not try to hide a smile. Skeeter was going to be a great adventurer, so she said, and anthropology was one of the required areas of study. She had, against her expectations, gotten sucked into the subject. He said, "Nerd."

"It's only nerdy if it's boring."

"Nerd," he repeated.

"Nerd yourself," she said, and flicked his arm with a forefinger. "Look, I'm serious. Don't be a stranger."

"I promise," he replied.

She punched his shoulder, then turned and left. Scooter watched her go—she turned and waved just before she slipped out of sight, and he waved back—and then he turned to Janken.

The Fraggle did not look as cheerful as he normally did. His expression was guarded, and his tail hung close to the ground. Scooter remembered when his tail had lashed, and knew why. He said in a low voice, "Janken?"

"Yes?"

The two looked at each other for a moment Scooter said, "Are you mad because I didn't tell Skeeter?"

Janken sighed and shook his head, looking away. "No. I'm not mad."

"I'm sorry…"

Without looking over Janken patted him lightly on the shoulder. "I understand, Scooter. I knew from the beginning that you want to keep this just between us," he said softly.

"Jan…"

"I'll see you tomorrow." Janken turned and tried to smile, then walked across the stage. His tail trailed limply across the boards.

Scooter felt terrible. He hadn't meant to hurt Janken's feelings. It never bothered him before. Had it? No, Janken was not one to conceal his feelings. Scooter would have known. Belatedly he hurried after him.

He exited the theater just in time to see Janken riding his bicycle away, pedaling hard.

* * *

All characters except Janken, Catherine Monster, and Penny Dreadful are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken, Penny Dreadful, and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	14. Face Off, Part 1

**Masks, Part 14:  
Face-Off, Part 1  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

It was the afternoon of the TMI benefit show. The guest performers were gathered backstage with the theater staff and Cathy Monster, the event's coordinator. She peeked at the audience from the wings.

All sorts of people had come. There were a number of invited guests, those who might take their message to heart. This show was not about raising funds, as the TMI was very well off, thanks to the shrewd investments of its founder. It was about spreading their message.

Gonzo, who was feeling just a touch of nerves because he was going to be emceeing the show—an unfamiliar role; he was much more used to bringing culture to the world via wild stunts—looked out over her shoulder. She said, "Your friends came."

"Yep." It was easy to pick them out. Flashbulbs always seemed to go off in Miss Piggy's vicinity. Kermit was with her, and he could see Camilla, Fozzie, Scooter, Skeeter, and Janken in the audience. Then he noticed someone else, and said, "Oh, crud," under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

Gonzo pointed at a small man with a mop of pale hair. "I know him. He's a reporter for _The Daily Scandal_. He writes nasty stuff. You don't want to know the kind of junk he wrote about me and Camilla after they refused to issue us a marriage license because they said she was 'only an animal'."

"I can guess," she said sympathetically.

"I hope he doesn't start in on the TMI."

"Gonzo, checkout line weeklies like that write anything to sell copies. Sometimes they sell papers by pulling on people's heartstrings."

"I don't know..."

"Are you always so worried about the tabloids? Whatever they print, it'll be forgotten as soon as the next issue comes out," Catherine said.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

While Miss Piggy allowed the photographers to have their way with her—with Kermit as her arm candy, of course—the others sat in the seats, chatting among themselves. Skeeter, speaking across Scooter, asked Janken, "Do you mind a personal question?"

"No, what?" Janken answered.

"You look kind of like a Fraggle..?"

Skeeter, looking at Janken, did not notice her brother's relief, but Janken did. Janken said, "Me, a Fraggle? What makes you think that?"

"A lot of little things. Mainly your eyes and how you never wear shoes. And you're a vegetarian."

Janken smiled. "Okay, you got me. Yeah, I'm a Fraggle. Where did you hear about us? Hardly anyone knows we exist."

"One of the things I study is different cultures. Nobody knows much about Fraggles, but what there is makes it sound like you're _very_ different. Is it a secret, what you are?"

Janken shook his head. "No. I'd rather not make noise about it, is all. And we're not as different as you'd think."

"Can I ask you some questions?"

"Shoot."

Scooter asked Janken, "Want to swap seats?"

"Sure." The two switched seats to put Janken next to Skeeter.

Skeeter said, "I thought Fraggles didn't like to leave their caves. You seem at home out here, though."

"My great-uncle Matt—he was the first Fraggle to explore the outside world—used to take me with him on little adventures when I was a kid. I guess he trained me not to be agoraphobic. Still, it was pretty rough when I came up to live out here by myself. If you're used to knowing just where you are by the caves and tunnels you're in, what kind of rock is around you and what's living on it, imagine what it's like to look around and see nothing but distance. How can you tell where you are? But somehow you do it, and I told myself that if a Silly Creature—that's what Matt calls surface dwellers because he doesn't understand them very well—could manage it, so could I."

"Why, though? I mean, why leave your home, go to 'Silly Creature' college, and become a _theater tech,_ for crying out loud?"

He grinned. "It does sound weird, doesn't it? Exploring is a family tradition, and I'm continuing that. The TMI helped me get acclimated to the world out here, and they placed me in a college so I could get up to speed. I guess I gravitated to theater arts because Fraggles like singing and dancing, and when I was younger I wanted to be a storyteller." In a sober tone he said, "As for why I decided to live out here rather than just poking my head out every so often, well, there are dangers where we live—cave-ins, poison plants, hungry creatures, and so on—but they aren't so bad when you know how to deal with them. You can sense instability in the rocks, recognize the signs of...well, you get the idea. Anyhow, we Fraggles have never known anything about the surface world before because it just wasn't real to us, I guess. But that's changed. We _need_ to understand how the world works because we're part of it now. A few years before I was born we were poisoned when the human living above our caves contaminated our water with chemical waste. He didn't mean to—he didn't know we lived there, and as soon as he found out he stopped it and had the water cleaned again. But we could all have _died_, never knowing why." He paused, then smiled again. "I'd like to say that I was chosen for this heroic task because I'm the bravest and the brightest, but we're not that organized. I'm just the one who thought, okay, someone ought to do it, and it might be fun."

* * *

While Janken and Skeeter talked, Fleet Scribbler watched the audience from behind his dark glasses. He needed an article for tomorrow's paper, and it had to be something better than standard celebrity gossip. He had come here on a hunch, and, he thought as he looked around, perhaps that hunch was on the money. Miss Piggy was here—he hadn't foreseen that. She was always good for interesting press, especially lately. He could tell when somebody had something to hide, and spilled secrets sold papers.

It was easy to make his way over to her without being seen; he just stayed on the side opposite the photographers and autograph seekers. He took out a small digital camera, set the focus to closeup, and inched forward.

Scooter called, "Miss Piggy!"

She glanced over. "What?"

Both Fozzie and Scooter were looking at her. Scooter pointed urgently at something behind her.

She felt a touch at her fingertips, and looked around. She saw a mop of pale hair, a hand reaching for her glove as if about to pull it off, and a camera. Her arm jerked suddenly, and with a whoosh of expelled breath Fleet doubled over. She turned back, smiling smugly. It hadn't even taken a karate chop to put that twerp in his place. A stiff finger-jab to the solar plexus got the message across much more subtly.

* * *

Gonzo had seen the action from a distance, and was grinning. He knew exactly what had happened. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy.

Catherine said, "It's five minutes until we start. I must admit, I've done many of these shows, and I'm still a little nervous."

Penny Dreadful, now in a costume that made her look simultaneously frightening and alluring, said in a sultry voice, "Don't worry about it. We'll have them eating out of the palms of our hands."

"Thanks, Penny. I know you will." This was not the first time Penny Dreadful had been in a TMI benefit, and Catherine knew that whenever she was in costume she was in character. She looked around—the guest performers were all there—and said, "I want to thank you all for donating your time and talent. This will help greatly in getting our message out. The more people know about TMI, the more people will call on us when they see a need for us, and the more lives we can save by giving people a chance. Thank you."

This struck a chord with Gonzo. Suddenly he realized that it had been blind luck that the TMI had helped him, back when he had been homeless. He had been taken in for vagrancy—he had been sleeping on a park bench—and somehow Catherine had gotten him out, so he did not get a criminal record. Someone at the police station had to have known about TMI, and when they saw that he had no record had guessed that the TMI could help him out of the trap he was in. Without the aid of that unknown benefactor—someone who knew about the TMI, and had called on them instead of following the normal routine and booking him—he could not have gotten off the streets. Why had this never occurred to him before?

* * *

Skeeter and Janken were still talking when the theater lights dimmed, signaling people to take their seats. After a minute Gonzo, wearing his familiar purple tuxedo, wandered out in front of the stage curtains, swinging a wireless microphone in one hand and looking around casually. He stopped when he saw the audience, then said, "Oh, you're here," in a tone of mild surprise. "Glad you could come. Welcome to this show, which is sponsored by the TMI." He took a card out of his pocket and read in an exaggeratedly stilted tone, "TMI is an organization that helps economically disadvantaged Monsters out through educational and legal assistance, and otherwise helping them get on their feet." He looked up again. "Some of you already know that, and if so, good for you."

Penny Dreadful had walked out onstage behind Gonzo and watched him speak, her hands on her hips, tapping one foot. At the audience's reaction Gonzo looked up from the card, then glanced around. He startled when he saw Penny. She sauntered over to him, her costume looking as precarious as ever, and said, "Good grief, can't you make that more interesting? You sound like you're doing show and tell."

"Sorry, I'm a little out of my element. I wanted to trail a banner behind my motorcycle, but the ramp wouldn't fit in the aisles."

She shook her head. "Oy vey. I have to give you lessons on how to work a crowd? All right, give me that." She held out a hand. He gave her the card. She glanced at it briefly, then handed it back and, putting her hands on her hips and sweeping her long, multicolored hair back, said in a breathy, sultry voice, "TMI is an organization that helps economically disadvantaged Monsters-" she breathed deeply, making her costume look even more precarious than it already did, "through educational and legal assistance, and otherwise helping them get on their...feet," she finished in a vampish tone, then struck a pose.

"Are you okay?" Gonzo asked, concerned.

"What?" she snapped.

"The way you're breathing, it looks like you're having an asthma attack." He asked the audience, "Anyone have an inhaler?"

She rolled her eyes, then said to the audience, "You see what I have to work with here? And I thought it was bad with the cheap movies. Look, we'll work on the commercials backstage. In the meantime, here's Ten Inch Talons." She pushed Gonzo offstage, then stopped and quipped to the audience, "Wow, so this is what it feels like to announce something that doesn't suck. I could get used to this."

Backstage, Catherine grinned at them both. "That was great."

"I know my stuff around a straight man," Penny answered. She said to Gonzo, "You didn't get flustered at all. I'm a little surprised."

"Don't think I didn't notice you! But my _wife's_ in the audience."

"Ahh, gotcha," she said with a wink. "Don't think I'll pull my punches because of that, though."

* * *

The show continued in the same vein, with Gonzo and Penny introducing various acts, dropping small bits of information about the mission and methods of the TMI while introducing the acts. Each time Penny tried harder to vamp Gonzo, and each time Gonzo somehow managed to miss the message. In the end she dragged him offstage, telling him with a wicked smile that she would show him her video collection, starting with _Dedos: Fingers of Fate_. From offstage came a shriek of horror.

After the last act Gonzo and Penny stepped onstage. Gonzo said, "Hope you liked the show. Wish I'd been out there watching it with you. Instead, I was stuck backstage with her." He nodded to Penny. "She can't play go fish worth a darn."

"Poker's more my game," she said sweetly.

He hadn't expected that ad-lib. He said, "This is gonna drive me to gin rummy. Anyhow, I have one more intro to make. Catherine Monster, who set this all up. Since I couldn't get the message about TMI across that well, she's gonna tell you about it."

Both Gonzo and Penny welcomed Cathy as she walked onstage from the side. She accepted the microphone from Gonzo and said, "Thank you all for coming. TMI, as Gonzo said at the beginning, is an organization devoted to helping out Monsters who have not had all the opportunities that they otherwise would have had otherwise. Our primary focus is on education and job placement, but we also help place foster children and adoptions, offer legal assistance, and help in any other way we can. There are a lot of people out there—Monsters and otherwise—who, owing to no more than an accident of birth or circumstance, have suffered poverty and deprivation, and so many who, if only given a chance, could be as productive in society as anyone else. The problem is solvable, one person at a time, if people will focus on making a difference in others' lives. Whether it's donating your time to work with TMI, or fostering or adopting children, or referring people who need help to the TMI, any one of you can make a difference. All you have to do is reach out and touch someone else's life."

She smiled at the audience. "Again, thank you for coming. Be well."

People began to get up to leave. The reporter that Gonzo had identified to Cathy as Fleet Scribbler said, "That all sounds nice, but do you really think you can clean the world up? Is it really worth it?"

The question did not bother Catherine; she had answered it a hundred times before. But before she could speak Gonzo asked her, "Um, can I take this?"

Surprised, she answered, "Sure," and handed him the microphone.

Gonzo walked to upstage to stand right in front of Fleet. The reporter had a pencil and pad out. Gonzo glanced around—most of the audience was staying, sensing that the show was not quite over. The Muppets were sitting back down as well. Gonzo looked back at Fleet, then said, "Yes, it makes a difference, especially to the people the TMI has helped. I know for sure. I was one of 'em.

"I was one of those foster kids who slipped through the cracks and ended up homeless. It's a trap. You can't get out of it because nobody will hire you for anything legal if you don't have a home, and you can't get a home if you don't have anything to pay for it with. I spent years living on the streets, getting enough money to eat by playing an old guitar for handouts. After living like that for too long you give up hoping for anything better than just staying alive. It's a rotten way to live.

"Eventually I got picked up for vagrancy, and instead of booking me they referred me to the TMI. Long story short, they gave me the help I needed to finish my education, get a job, and get back on my feet. So, no, TMI can't solve all the problems of the world. Nobody can. But every person out there who needs their help is a _real person_, not a number or percentage or something. Isn't it worth it to help even one person get out of a miserable life like that?"

Fleet did not answer. He was writing rapidly. Gonzo looked around—he had the attention of the remaining audience—and said with a faint smile, "I guess I can say it now. I'm not only a spokesman for the TMI, I'm a client." He handed the microphone back to Cathy.

* * *

After the show, Penny asked Gonzo, "Was that all true?"

"Yeah."

Catherine told him softly, "You didn't have to do that, Gonzo."

"Actually... I kinda had to. Doing this show to help, but denying I'd been in their shoes once—I felt like a hypocrite, like I was pretending to be better than them. I've kept it a secret for so long, but when I saw Fleet Scribbler there, well, I decided I was sick of being scared of my own past, and I was gonna come clean. Maybe he'll write one of his crummy articles about it, but at least it'll be over with. I hope you don't mind me stealing your thunder."

"Of course not," she exclaimed. "Sometimes people do lose sight of the fact that it's real people we're trying to help. You put a human face on the matter. Well, legally human. Thank you." She hugged him.

He hugged back. "Thanks. If it makes a difference, I guess it's worth it."

He felt a tap at his shoulder, and turned. Penny Dreadful said, "That was brave," and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks," he replied.

"Let's keep in touch, all right?"

"Sure," he said. Looking around, he said sincerely, "Thanks, guys." He thought that he ought to be weepy now, but all he felt was relief. He had shed a burden he'd been carrying for the greater part of his life. Only now, he realized, was it truly behind him, and could never hurt him again.

* * *

All characters except Janken, Catherine Monster, and Penny Dreadful are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken, Penny Dreadful, and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	15. The Battle of the Salad Bar

**Masks, Part 15:  
The Battle of the Salad Bar  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

Most of the Muppets had gone straight from the TMI benefit show to the Muppet Theater to prepare for that night's show. It was Saturday, the night of the second show of that set, and they had had to cut one act after it detonated onstage during Friday's show. This had been unexpected, as neither Gonzo nor Muppet Labs were performing that weekend. To fill the slot Scooter had put in the Swedish Chef.

Backstage right was the usual blizzard of activity. After Scooter had done what he could to sort things out, he left everyone to the usual frenzy and went over to backstage left, where Janken was still chatting with Skeeter. Since finding out that Janken was a Fraggle, she had been asking him millions of questions. It was kind of embarrassing, Scooter thought, but Janken matched her question for question about "silly creatures," and was enjoying the conversation as much as she was.

Janken said, "Hi, Scoot," when he saw him.

"Hi. Everything set up here?"

"Sure, ready to go. What about that act with the penguins, the trampoline, and the heavy machinery? Did they get that fixed?"

"No, we've cut it. The Swedish Chef will be on in its place."

"Oh, fine. Static camera front and center, follow cams on the sides?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

Skeeter asked, "Scooter—What Gonzo said at the end of that benefit show, is it true? Or was that just in the script?"

Scooter shook his head. "He never said anything about his past before, not to me at least, so I don't know. It took us all by surprise. But I get the feeling it was for real. He didn't sound like he was acting. And that's not the kind of thing he'd make up."

Scooter would know, she guessed. "Whoa."

"Yeah. That took guts. Especially with Fleet Scribbler right there."

Janken said, "It's tough to admit you're not what everyone thinks you are." He glanced up at Scooter, saw his hurt expression, and, realizing what that had sounded like, gave him an apologetic smile.

Skeeter could not see Janken's face. She told her brother, "This nerd's got sense."

* * *

The first act romped by with relatively little in the way of complications. Miss Piggy's big number would begin the second act, and during the intermission she bustled around, bullying her co-stars and giving the Wardrobe department headaches. In other words, all was normal, and as there was nothing Scooter could do about it he would keep out of the way until it blew over.

Kermit, on the other hand, could not. When he had heard enough he turned from his desk and exclaimed, "Everything's _fine_, Piggy! The costumes are just right! You've all rehearsed this for days! Everyone knows what they're doing! You just take care of _your_ part."

Shocked, Miss Piggy turned to face Kermit. She was drawing in a breath to speak when Kermit pointedly looked out at the theater house. "Oh, look, the second act's about to start. Time for you all to get into place."

Miss Piggy growled at him. Janice and Annie Sue Pig, the rest of the cast for that number, hustled onto the stage, grateful to Kermit for diverting Piggy's temper. Then Piggy went out and took her mark, standing facing the back of the stage.

After another minute the theater lights went down and the audience chatter faded. Kermit went out and introduced Miss Piggy's act. The curtains parted, revealing Miss Piggy, backed by Janice and Annie Sue Pig, all wearing showgirl outfits. Miss Piggy's was deep blue; Janice and Annie Sue wore red.

As the piano played the opening notes, Miss Piggy looked over her shoulder at the audience and crooned,

"You have to understand the way I am, mein Herr.  
A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb, mein Herr."

She turned to face the audience, and Janice and Annie Sue struck symmetrical poses behind her.

"You'll never turn the vinegar to jam, mein Herr."  
So I do what I do.  
When I'm through, then I'm through.  
And I'm through... toodle-oo!"

All three waved one hand dismissively, then began to dance to the chorus.

"Bye-bye, mein lieber Herr.  
Farewell, mein lieber Herr..."

* * *

Scooter came over to backstage left and looked at the monitors. The number was going off perfectly, the choreography becoming more intense as the song rose toward its energetic finale. He glanced at his sister. She was watching the show with more interest than she would admit to. She had the sense not to distract Janken while he was working the cameras. Scooter would have liked to have a quick word with him between acts, but with Skeeter hanging around that wasn't going to happen. Talk about bad timing, he thought.

* * *

As soon as the curtains closed they began switching the set around. The Swedish Chef's scenery was simple, just a few pieces that could be wheeled on in seconds. Miss Piggy, looking quite pleased with herself, stopped by Kermit's desk. "Oh, Kermie."

"Yes, Piggy?"

"We knocked 'em dead," she said smugly.

"Yes, I heard the applause," he said appreciatively.

"Now, I know that tempers may get a teensy bit out of control backstage. I just want you to know that I understand."

"Oh, good," he said cheerfully. He knew that this was Piggy's very roundabout way of acknowledging that she had pushed him a bit far before the act. What the hey, it was the thought that counted, even if it was buried pretty deep.

Rowlf came backstage. After that number he had no more piano parts for the night, and he would rather hang out backstage than sit in the pit, getting a crick in his neck from looking up at the stage. He watched from an out-of-the-way spot as the scenery was swapped at speed.

Kermit glanced behind the curtains, then went out onstage. He said to the audience, "We Muppets have always been fans of hot dishes, as you just saw. I'd like to continue the theme of the night with an example of haute cuisine, but instead we have The Swedish Chef."

The curtains opened. When Kermit came offstage Piggy said sweetly, "That wouldn't have happened to be a pork joke, now would it?"

Quickly Kermit thought over what he'd said. Oops. "Not at all, Piggy. I was saying you looked hot, that's all."

"Good. Just making sure."

* * *

Onstage, the Swedish Chef sang his introduction, then tossed a meat tenderizer over his shoulder and neatly through a breakaway window in the backdrop. Then he spread his hands and said, "Idag är jag ska göra en veggetobabble stœur-fry." He lifted a large wooden cutting board loaded down with vegetables—carrots, squash, snow peas, radishes, bean sprouts, kohlrabi, and so on—onto the counter. "Här är de veggies." He placed a huge metal bowl on one of the burners. "Jag ska laga den i detta wok!" He picked up a large cleaver and began to chop at the vegetables.

Floyd was hanging out backstage, partially because he was not needed in the pit for this segment, but mostly because he wanted to get an eyeful of Janice in the slinky dress she had worn for _Mein Herr._ He was not paying attention to Animal, who had followed backstage to get away from the corny saxophone piece that Zoot always had to play during the Swedish Chef's acts. At the moment there was nothing particularly interesting going on backstage, so he idly watched the Chef.

The Chef quickly finished up with a flurry of chopping, then dumped all of the vegetables into the wok. He produced a pair of wooden sticks over a foot long. "Jag använder alltid cœuking chöpsticks. Chop-chop, ah so!" He pattered with the sticks on the side of the wok as if it was a cymbal, then began stirring the vegetables.

Animal's eyes widened. "Drumsticks!"

Janice, whose attention had not been on the stage for the last few minutes, said, "No, Animal, he's cooking vegetarian cuisine today, not chicken."

_"Drumsticks!"_ Animal shouted, and lunged for the stage.

* * *

When he saw animal coming, the Swedish Chef ran around to the other side of the counter. The cooking chopsticks flew from his hands. Animal grabbed for them, but missed, upsetting the wok and sending the vegetables flying across the stage.

Janken watched, aghast, as the scene played out on the monitors. Something struck him on the side of the head, but it didn't hurt, so he paid it no mind. Animal and the Swedish Chef had somehow gotten into a duel, with Animal using the chopsticks as weapons while the Chef shielded himself with the cutting board. The Chef turned to escape, skidded on a leaf of kohlrabi, and fell to the floor in an elaborate pratfall. The curtains closed.

Kermit rushed onto the stage. "Are you all right?"

"Jag har varit bättre."

"I had to ask," Kermit said to himself.

* * *

Dr. Teeth, still in the pit, guessed that they would need a few minutes' worth of vamping to get their act together. He stood up—a light obligingly shone on him—and said to the audience, "Looks like it's time to lay some groove on. So, for all you mamas and papas out there, here's a little mood music courtesy of the great Boots Randolph. Zoot."

Zoot nodded absently, picked up his saxophone and, with Dr. Teeth accompanying him on the keyboard, played the energetic first notes of _Yakety Sax_.

* * *

Kermit heard the music and said, "That'll buy us a couple of minutes."

Scooter was flipping frantically through his clipboard, thinking as he did that Dr. Teeth couldn't have chosen more appropriate music if he had tried. He called, _"Change the set!"_ To Kermit he said, "We're still gonna run short."

Rowlf spoke up. "Wait. Maybe not. Veterinarian's Hospital!" He looked at Piggy and Janice, who were still wearing their showgirl dresses.

"What?" Scooter said in disbelief.

Grinning, Rowlf explained, "Dr. Bob makes a house call!" He dashed off to Wardrobe. Both Janice and Piggy followed him.

Scooter didn't pause. He said, "Put the chef up on the counter. Don't clean up the mess. Get whatever Vet's Hospital stuff out there you can in the next two minutes, but leave the Chef's set!" As the nearby Muppets hopped to it, eager to see what was going to happen next—whether it worked or not, it was sure to be entertaining—Scooter tapped the intercom. "Jan, change of plans. Vet's Hospital is up next. Same camera setup as the Swedish Chef."

"Gotcha." Janken looked over the cameras—they were already in position—then glanced at the stage. It was a mess; it looked as if a salad bar had exploded there. Glancing down, he found the missile that had struck him, and picked it up. A radish. He said "Don't mind if I do," and popped it into his mouth.

* * *

The curtains opened on the same set. Several medical props had been wheeled in. The Swedish Chef had been laid on the countertop as if it was an operating table. Rowlf, Miss Piggy, and Janice were wearing their scrubs; Piggy and Janice had thrown theirs on over their gowns. Miss Piggy was curling her eyelashes with a pair of salad tongs when the curtains opened and a voice announced, "It's time once again for Veterinarian's house call, the continuing story of a quack who's gone to the dogs."

As Piggy dropped the salad tongs and hurried over to the counter, Janice asked, "What's wrong with this patient, Dr. Bob?"

Rowlf made a show of examining the Chef. Then he replied, "This man is obviously having a severe allergic reaction to onions."

Piggy asked, "How can you tell that, Dr. Bob?"

"He's breaking out in chives!" All three laughed. "Also, he has corns."

Janice said, "Wow, how can you tell? You haven't even looked at his feet."

"Not on his feet, on his ears!"

Piggy faced the audience and said, "Ears of corn." All three laughed again.

"Wait a minute, what's this?" Rowlf reached down and pulled up a radish. He tossed it away. Then he pulled up another, and a third. As he threw them away he remarked, "Radishes repeat for me too."

Janice asked, "What can you do for him, Dr. Bob?"

"There's only one cure for this. Bed rest," Rowlf answered.

"In the hospital or at home?" Piggy asked.

"No, on a bed of lettuce!"

As Rowlf laughed and Miss Piggy and Janice groaned the announcer spoke. "Tune in tomorrow to Vegetarian's Hospital, when we'll hear Dr. Bob, Nurse Piggy, and Nurse Janice say..."

Rowlf sang, "To-may-to, to-mah-to,"

All three chorused, "Let's call the whole sketch off!"

As Rowlf, Piggy, Janice, and the Swedish Chef left the stage they were greeted by the applause of the other Muppets. Scooter exclaimed, "That was great! Thanks, guys!"

"Wonderful save," Kermit added. "That gave us just the time we needed."

"Anytime," Rowlf said, grinning from ear to ear.

Miss Piggy stepped up to Kermit, her hands behind her back and said sweetly, "Oh, Kermie..."

He gulped nervously. "Yes, Piggy?"

She declared, "The time has finally come. I can hold it in no longer. Kermit, I must give to you... my heart!" Dramatically she presented him with an artichoke.

He glanced at it, then up at her. Both burst out laughing.

* * *

Still grinning, Kermit took the artichoke back to the house that evening, and put it in a vase as if it were a rosebud.

* * *

All characters except Janken are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. _Mein Herr_ is from the movie _Cabaret_. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	16. Face Off, Part 2

**Masks, Part 16:  
Face-Off, Part 2**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

The Muppets reached the boarding house in high spirits despite that night's snafus and improvisations. In fact, those complications was at least in part responsible for their cheer. Clever acts that went off like clockwork were fine, but there was something about a narrowly averted disaster that made a Muppet feel really alive.

When they returned, Gonzo was in the living room, playing with his daughter Billie. Fozzie Bear said, "You missed a really great show, Gonzo. One of the acts blew up—"

"The penguins and the machines? Again?" Gonzo asked.

"No, the Swedish Chef. Then they took him to Veterinarian's Hospital."

"Cool! I gotta see that," Gonzo said.

"No problem. I'd be out a job if I didn't save that footage," Janken said. Scooter had asked the Fraggle to come by the boarding house instead of going straight home after the show. Puzzled, Janken had agreed, and stowed his bicycle in the back of the bus. Skeeter had invited herself along as well.

The Muppets were settling into the living room. Camilla nestled up beside Gonzo. He put an arm around her and said, "I guess you're wondering about what I said at the TMI show. Yeah, that was for real."

Rowlf said, "Wait, what was this?"

Kermit was surprised at how calmly Gonzo said, "I knew Cathy Monster because she was my case worker years and years ago. I used to live on the streets. I ran away from family issues and stuff." He shrugged. "I spent about six years homeless before someone referred me to the TMI, and they helped me out of that. I never told any of you about it, because, well, it's not exactly a past to be proud of, is it?"

"But with Fleet Scribbler right there..." Fozzie said.

Again Gonzo shrugged. "I don't know, at the moment I just didn't care. It was the right time to come clean. I'd have to be a real jerk not to own up to what they'd done for me. It's because of them, Cathy especially, that I'm not still sleeping on park benches. And if Fleet writes about it... well, nothing he writes could hurt me any worse than I've been hurting myself by being ashamed instead of just dealing with it."

Quietly Scooter said, "Wow."

Gonzo said, "I stayed out of trouble back then. I don't have a police record. There's no dirt for Fleet to dig up on me. I'm not looking forward to what he'll write, but I guess that even if he makes up a lot of stuff, nobody'll believe it for more than a minute. Anyway... sorry I kept it from you all. Now you know."

There was a few seconds of silence. Then Floyd said, "Hey, we're hip."

"We practically lived outta our bus before we got this gig," Dr. Teeth said. "We've all had our rough times."

Rizzo added, "Hey, I know all about dumpster diving. There's good eatin' in there!"

Amused, Gonzo replied, "You would know."

The rat continued, "But, Gonzo, first you're a chicken-lover, then you're an alien, now this. Is there anything else ya wanna tell us about, buddy?"

Gonzo laughed. "No, that's it. I promise."

"Good. Don't worry about it, anyway. No matter what, we couldn't think any worse of ya." Rizzo punched Gonzo's arm.

Scooter said, "You'll always be weird ol' Gonzo to us." The others agreed.

"Thanks," Gonzo said sincerely.

Camilla clucked, and Gonzo said, "I know, babe." He told the others, "Camilla said she knew you'd all understand."

"Um, while we're all here, there's something I'd like to get off my chest," Scooter began hesitantly.

Janken, sitting beside him, was surprised, and dismayed when he saw how worried Scooter looked.

"What is it, Scooter?" Miss Piggy asked.

"Well... I've been seeing someone for a while now. I've been hiding it, and I feel kind of bad about that."

Skeeter exclaimed, "You kidding? My little nerd brother's finally growing up! Who'd've thought?"

Scooter shot her a look. Fozzie asked, "So who is she? Anyone we know?"

Janken was looking at him, his expression carefully neutral. Scooter said, "Yeah," and, holding Janken's gaze, turned his hand palm up. After a pause Janken smiled and clasped hands with him. Scooter smiled back. He owed this to Janken.

"Whoa, I didn't see that coming," Gonzo said.

"That's a big secret to keep, Scooter," Kermit said.

They sounded surprised, but not upset, Scooter noted with relief. "I know," Scooter replied. "I've been feeling kind of crummy about it-"

Skeeter swatted him on the back of his head. He grabbed for his glasses before they could come off. "Hey! What's that for?"

"You ought to feel crummy! You jerk, I can't believe you've been lying to everyone all this time!"

He protested, "What? I didn't _lie_ about it, I just didn't tell anyone-"

"You didn't tell _me!_ I'm your sister, for crying out loud! What did you think I'd do, have you stripped of your Boy Scout merit badges? What about those double dates we used to go on, all that time you were pretending! How is _that_ not lying, huh?"

Scooter glanced around. If only Skeeter wasn't here; he didn't want to hash everything out in front of everyone. But what else could he do? He said, "Skeeter, I wasn't pretending. I didn't know. Really."

She folded her arms and glared at him. "How can you not know something like _that?"_

He shook his head, and felt Janken squeeze his hand supportively. "I only started dating when I went to college. Before that, well, I really didn't give it much thought. And—well, you know, we went out a lot, and it was fun, but nothing really happened. I met a lot of nice girls, and made plenty of friends, but that was all. It always ended up as 'just friends.' I didn't realize why until I met Janken."

Skeeter's tone softened. "Okay. So you weren't lying, you were just clueless. But, how can you _not_ know you like guys instead of girls, for crying out loud?"

He closed his eyes and gathered his nerve. When he spoke, it was in a low, careful tone. "Skeeter, people look down on anyone who's...gay. Not everyone does, but it happens all the time. All the name-calling, and worse. Even 'gay' is an insult now. Oh, lots of people will tolerate 'those people,' if they keep it quiet and hide what they are. But when people act like it's a dirty subject, like there's something wrong with you and they have to protect their kids from you, and organizations go to court to make sure they can keep people like you out because you're not good enough, and _win_—with all that, who _wants_ to see that in themselves?"

Softly Skeeter asked, "Has anyone been giving you a bad time about it?"

"Besides you? No, we've been keeping quiet." Scooter answered wryly. "But every time I hear something, even though it's not aimed at me... I can't help thinking that if anyone knew, it _would_ be."

Skeeter put an arm around her brother's shoulders. "Um, sorry I popped you a moment ago. But, Scooter... come on, I'm your _sister_. Did you really think I couldn't handle it? And all these guys," she gestured around the room at the other Muppets, "did you think they're such jerks they'd kick you to the curb? C'mon."

He admitted, "Yeah, you're right, sis. I just had a hard time getting used to it. Admitting something like that, even to yourself, is tough." He looked around the room. "Sorry, guys. But the one I owe an apology to most is Janken." He looked at the Fraggle. "Sorry I've been treating us like a secret, not being honest about you. You don't deserve that."

Janken pressed Scooter's hand between his own and said, "You were always honest _with_ me. That's what counts."

"Um..." Scooter glanced around, then told the other Muppets, "One thing. I didn't ask Kermit to hire Janken for the cameras because of how I feel about him. Okay, maybe I thought of him 'cause of that, but I suggested him because he's _good."_

"That's why I hired him," Kermit answered calmly.

Gonzo realized that this must have been what Scooter had on his mind when they had spoken in the backyard weeks ago. If Gonzo hadn't been so preoccupied with his own problems he might have noticed something. Maybe Scooter could have used a friendly ear then. He said, "If you love each other and you make each other happy, then I say you win." Camilla clucked emphatic agreement.

"Words of wisdom from an unexpected source," Dr. Teeth remarked.

Janice said, "Like, so your squeeze is a guy, so what? You make a rilly cute couple."

Pepe added, "And all the more womens for the rest of us, hah hah!"

Skeeter said, "Besides, Scoot, it's one more thing we have in common."

Startled, he turned to her. "Skeeter?"

"We both date guys."

Scooter rolled his eyes and groaned, but he was grinning. Bad jokes were a good sign. Things were going back to normal.

Kermit told him, "Scooter, I'm I guess I'm supposed to say it doesn't matter to us, but it does. It matters to us because it matters to _you_. I can't say I know just how you feel—maybe nobody here does—but we've all been through tough times one way or another. We get through by sticking together. You're one of us, and we're here for ya. That's what's important. And there is nothing wrong with you." The other Muppets nodded and voiced their agreement.

"Thanks, boss," Scooter said sincerely.

"No problem. I don't want to have to break in a new stage manager."

Some of the Muppets laughed. That was the truth; Scooter was a likable guy, but a stage manager good enough to handle the chaos that was their show was a treasure indeed.

Janken said softly to Scooter, "See, it's easier now, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Like Gonzo said, I guess the worst part was what I was doing to myself by keeping it in." He looked around the room. "Thanks, everyone."

"Hey, no problem," Fozzie said.

Miss Piggy said, "Scooter, nobody here thinks any less of you. After all, you've practically grown up with us. We're family, and if you can't trust your family, who can you trust?"

Janken looked at her. Her tone was gentle and not at all sweet or stagey. He was not used to hearing her sounding so sincere. But then, he realized, he had hardly ever seen her outside the theater. This was the first evidence he'd seen of the face behind her mask.

* * *

After that, the conversation lightened up, and they chattered about various things. When they finally broke up for the night Skeeter said to Janken, "I can give you a lift back. If you're going back, that is."

Janken glanced at Scooter, then said, "I'd better go home too. I need to study tomorrow for a test next week. But I have my bike. Thanks, though."

"Okay." She looked at Scooter. "Don't be a stranger, okay?" she said seriously.

"Okay. I promise," he replied.

Janken squeezed Scooter's hand and said, "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"And thanks."

They looked at each other for a moment, unable to think of anything else to say. Janken would have liked to kiss Scooter goodbye, but that would have been pushing things. He grinned and turned, and just before he went out the door he raised a hand and wiggled his fingers cheerfully over his shoulder.

* * *

After that Miss Piggy excused herself so she could get her beauty sleep. As she dressed for bed she thought that it had been quite a day for revelations. First Gonzo's past, then Scooter and Janken. And yet those revelations didn't really change anything, did they? Gonzo and Scooter were still the same people they had always been.

She took off her arm-length satin gloves. Normally she changed gloves without looking at her hands, except when her...nails need trimming. Now she looked at them. Her fingers were, in her opinion, dainty and feminine. They would have been beautiful if not for those black trotters. She could cut them down and shape them like fingernails, but nothing short of opaque gloves could hide the evidence of her farmhouse origin.

She put on a pair of cotton bed gloves, thinking that people like Gonzo and Scooter were fortunate. They did not have to work hard to maintain their images. Nobody expected perfection of them.

* * *

All characters except Janken are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	17. The Monster at the End of This Story

**Masks, Part 17:  
The Monster at The End of This Story  
**by Kim McFarland

* * *

"I know what I see and it's fine by me."  
- Boober and Sidebottom, _Party Hard (Who Knows What You See)_

* * *

It was a warm Tuesday afternoon. The Muppets had spent several hours deciding which takes would go in the broadcast version of the show. As they had three nights' worth of performances, they selected the best versions of each act, "best" meaning "most entertaining" rather than "highest quality." Generally speaking, this meant whichever got the most laughter or the loudest groans was the one they would show the world. The committee was officially composed of Kermit, Miss Piggy, Fozzie, Scooter, Dr. Teeth, and Rowlf, but unofficially it included any Muppet who felt like coming down to watch the rushes.

Though it had only been onstage one night, they played the ad-libbed _Veterinarian's Hospital_ sketch several times. It was a keeper, all right, and thus the Swedish Chef act that preceded it would also be used. They had even filmed some backstage business around it on Monday.

Now the footage was all set, and would be sent to the editors, who would assemble it into a broadcast show. Janken shut down the camera console. He was not a member of the committee; he had been running the control board. But his laughter counted as much as any other Muppet's. Even if he hadn't been needed, he wouldn't have missed this for anything. The weekly rushes for this show were _fun._

As the others began chatting among themselves, discussing that week's disasters and triumphs—which were often the same thing—Scooter put a hand on Janken's shoulder. Janken looked up, then smiled. Scooter's grin was contagious, and it was good to see it again after all recent stress he had been through.

"What're you doing this evening?" Scooter asked.

"Lab work," Janken said apologetically. "The college lets me squidge my class schedule around because of this job, but I still have to put in my hours."

"Oh well. Maybe later."

"Yeah. Oh, I saw Skeeter yesterday. She wants to double date with us, now that she doesn't have to try to fix you up with someone, so she says."

"Sheesh. She doesn't give up."

"Nope. She wants to meet us after the show on Saturday. She's picked a movie."

"Which one?" Scooter asked. He already had a suspicion.

Janken looked upward thoughtfully. "Um, the title's an acronym. Four letters. R something."

"RHPS?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Oh boy." He and Skeeter had gone to that show fairly regularly when he first started college. It was less a movie than a combination party and food fight. He said, "That's fun, but, well… I don't know if you'd like it. It's…er..."

Janken grinned. "I was just pulling your tail. Theater arts major here, remember? How could I _not_ know about that movie? I've just never seen it. I told her I'd ask you, and she said not to let you squirm out of it. So, what do you say?"

"Oh… all right. Sure, it'll be fun. Maybe Skeeter'll wear that costume she used to. You wouldn't _believe_ what she does to her hair."

"What does she do?"

"I'll show you pictures. Say, you know what they call people who've never seen that movie?"

Slyly Janken said, "Yeah. I'm looking forward to being cured." He took Scooter's hand.

The two walked out to the bus hand-in-hand, and none of the other Muppets seemed to notice. It wasn't as if the subject was taboo; it was simply no big deal. That was just what Scooter had hoped for: the acceptance of those who mattered to him.

Janken said, "Maybe sometime you can come visit my home. The next time I'll be off, in the winter, it'll be too cold in the caves. But maybe in the spring?"

"Sure, I'd like that."

"Great."

They exited the theater house. The Electric Mayhem's bus was there, and Janken's bicycle was chained to a rack. He and Scooter hugged, and Janken was surprised to feel Scooter give him a quick peck on the cheek. He gave him an answering kiss. Then the two separated, grinning at each other.

Rowlf remarked, "You know, we could put you two in an 'At The Dance' number."

That broke the spell. Janken chuckled, then said as he unlocked his bike, "But who'd run the cameras?"

With a backward glance Scooter boarded the bus. As it started off Janken began pedaling to his apartment, tail waving cheerfully.

* * *

On the way back, Kermit and Miss Piggy sat together. Neither spoke, and their quiet was not due to tension. Piggy was more relaxed now, Kermit noticed. The thing about her childhood pictures seemed to have blown over quickly enough, as _The Daily Scandal_ had stopped sniping at her and shifted focus to Gonzo.

Kermit still wondered why those photos and the mention of her past had upset her so much. There had to be some reason, something she was not ready to face. But, he decided, that was her right. He would let it lie. If she ever did want to talk about it, he'd be there. But for now, he'd just accept her for herself.

* * *

When the bus arrived back at the boarding house most of the Muppets went into the living room to hang out and have fun. Gonzo, however, went back up to his room. He took a folded piece of newsprint out of his pocket. It was a page from that day's edition of _The Daily Scandal._ As he had expected, they had printed a story about his past. It was greatly fictionalized, the story he had told the audience fleshed out with details he had never given. They had even run a mug shot. He could have been angry, but… well, it didn't matter. None of the quotes attributed to him sounded like anything he'd say, and anyone who knew him could tell that the mug shot was fake; the photo they had altered was much too recent. What had surprised him most, though, was the tone of the article. Instead of the usual jeering tell-all, it made him out to be a pitiful victim of society, suffering heroically until he finally made good. That was embarrassing, but it also described how the TMI had helped him, and maybe a few people who read this might remember that part of the message when they saw someone else in need.

He put the paper down. Compared with what he had feared, this was not too bad, he had to admit. He knew that Fleet Scribbler hadn't had a change of heart; as Cathy had said, he wrote whatever would sell papers, and sometimes that was sap instead of scandal. And, well, nobody took those things seriously; it would be forgotten as soon as the next issue hit the stands.

He decided that something good _would_ come of it. He took out a pen and some paper, and began to write.

_Dear Mrs. Soeur,_

_This letter must come to you as a surprise after what I said to you at the theater._

_If I hurt your feelings, and I guess I'm sure I did, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be a creep. I just wasn't ready to face my past. Now I know I can't blame you or any of my other foster parents for anything. I think you did the best you could. If it was anyone's fault, it wouldn't do much good to lay blame now, would it? All that happened years ago._

_A few days ago, at a TMI benefit show, I talked about my past. When we met I told you not to tell anyone how you know me, but since it's no longer a secret, you can if you want. I won't mind._

_Funny, all this was clear in my head when I was thinking about this letter, but now that I'm writing it it's getting all jumbled up. I guess I've said the important stuff. Sorry for being harsh back then, and thanks for explaining things to me. Maybe we can meet again. I promise I won't get weird about it this time._

_Sincerely,_

_Gonzo_

He folded the letter and put it in an envelope. It was already addressed; he had looked her up the previous day, when he had first considered writing to her. He held the sealed envelope in his hand for a moment, considering. Then he gave a small smile and walked down the stairs. He could hear the chatter of the Muppets in the living room, punctuated with bursts of laughter, and smell pizza.

He dropped the envelope in the outgoing mail basket and joined his friends.

* * *

All characters except Janken are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. _Party Hard (Who Knows What You See)_ is copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


	18. Bloopers & Outtakes

**Masks, Part 18:  
The Outtake Reel**  
by Kim McFarland

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

[Scooter looks at a long list of names and telephone numbers on a clipboard. Most of them have X marks by them. He calls one that is not marked off yet.]

Scooter: Hello, I'm Scooter Grosse with The Muppet Show. I'd like to speak to.. [listens briefly] What? [listens some more] Well, a green jacket, blue jeans, and red sneakers. [listens] Nothing. Why? [listens some more, then, looking a little disturbed, hangs the phone up]

Scooter: [aside] I hate wrong numbers.

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

Scooter: MC Frontalot? Here's the script.

[Frontalot takes the script that Scooter offers.]

Frontalot: Thanks. Did you get the copier fixed?

Scooter: Not quite. There are still a few bugs in it. But don't worry, that script's okay.

[Frontalot begins flipping through the script. Between two badly-copied pages are photocopy images of rats smooshed against the copier glass, making faces, and of course one photocopy of a rat's butt.]

* * *

**Chapter 11:**

[Janken and Scooter are in a cave.]

Janken: [beckoning] C'mon, this way!

[Janken starts running. There is a strange whooshing sound, followed by the sound of bongo drums and electric guitar.]

Scooter: [startled] What was _that?_

Janken: Sorry. It's a Fraggle thing.

* * *

**Chapter 14:**

**Take 1:**

[Fleet Scribbler, camera ready, reaches carefully for Miss Piggy's glove. Without warning her hand turns into a fist and punches him. Hard.]

Kermit: Ah, Piggy, that was supposed to be a little subtler.

Piggy: Oops, sorry. Let's try it again, shall we?

**Take 2:**

[Fleet Scribbler, camera ready, reaches carefully for Miss Piggy's glove.]

Miss Piggy: HIIII-YAAAAAH!

[Miss Piggy karate chops Fleet halfway across the auditorium.]

Kermit: Still not quite subtle enough.

Miss Piggy: _Moi_ is _so_ sorry. Method acting, you know.

**Take 3:**

[Fleet Scribbler, looking rather shaky, reaches carefully for Miss Piggy's glove. She jabs him in the solar plexus with stiffened fingers. He collapses.]

Piggy: [exaggerately sweetly] Now, mister Scribbler, you weren't supposed to fall, just stagger back a little. Let's try it again.

[Fleet doesn't move.]

* * *

**Chapter 16:**

[The main Muppets, plus Janken and Skeeter, are all in the boarding house living room.]

Scooter: I've been seeing someone for a while now.

Gonzo: Someone has captured your heart...

Scooter: Yes.

Skeeter: And you never told us?

Scooter: Yes.

Gonzo: And you're always hanging around with Janken...

Scooter: [dramatically] Yes. Yes, say it! He is my... _boyfriend!_

* * *

All characters except Janken are copyright © The Muppets Studio, LLC. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.


End file.
